e wasn't figuring on time. They went
away from here, Shearing, you see? And when they went they drained off
the liquid graphite and took it with them. So there isn't anything left
to flood the tunnel. Pathetic, isn't it?"

Shearing hit him again. "Cut the wire."

He cut it. They scuffled backward down the tunnel, dragging the box.
When they got back into the shaft where there was room to do it they
opened up the box.

"Doesn't look like much, does it, for all the trouble it's made?"

"No, it doesn't. But then gold doesn't look like much, or uranium, or a
handful of little dry seeds." Shearing picked up a chunk of the rough,
grayish ore. "You know what that is, Hyrst? That's the stars."

It was Hyrst's turn to prod Shearing into quiet. The starship and the
dream that went with it were still only an intellectual interest to him.
They shared out the Titanite into two webbing sacks. It made a light
load for each, hardly noticeable when clipped to a belt-ring at the
back.

Hyrst felt suddenly very nervous. Perhaps it was reaction, perhaps it
was the memory of having been trapped in a similar hole on the Valhalla
asteroid. Perhaps it was a mental premonition, obscured by the
radioactive "fog". At any rate, he started to climb the ladder with
almost suicidal haste, urging Shearing on after him. The shaft seemed to
be a mile high. It seemed to lengthen ahead of him as he climbed, so
that he was never any nearer the top. He knew it was only imagination,
because he passed the level markers, but it was the closest thing to a
nightmare he had ever experienced when he was broad awake. Just after
they had passed the E Level mark, Shearing spoke.

"A ship has landed."

Hyrst looked mentally. The fog-effect was not so great now, and he could
see quite clearly. It was a small ship, and two men were getting out of
it. It had stopped snowing.

"Radar must have picked up the raft after all," said Shearing. "Or else
somebody spotted the jet-flares." He began to climb faster. "We better
get out of this before they come in."

D Level. Hyrst's hands were cold and stiff inside his gauntlets, clumsy
hooks to catch the slender rungs. The two men were standing outside in
the snow, peering around.

C Level. One of the two men saw the raft parked by the hoist tower. He
pointed, and they moved toward it.

B Level. Hyrst's boots slipped and scrambled, banging the shaft wall.
"Christ," said Shearing. "You sound like a temple gong. What a