Thank a merciful heaven Virginia ’s mechs report few problems in the other two sleep slots!

At last, when Quiverian had seemed on the verge of rebellion, Saul had put him to work assembling the hydrogen lamps, an easier job than stoop-and-swab labor.

“If you’re in such a damn hurry,” Quiverian groused, “why don’t you wake up lazybones over there. Put him to work doing something more useful than snoring and warming the whole cave with his electric blanket!”

Saul glanced at the recumbent form of Spacer Tech Garner, lying on the fibersheath floor in a dark corner. Garner had been on duty for four days straight. The man was just catching a few hours’ shuteye before going back out to join the battles once again. In comparison, Joao’s work here had been a holiday.

“Leave him alone, Joao. I’ll take the first four lamps and test them. You just keep working on the others.”

He paused, then added, “Only please, Joao, be careful, will you? Try not to break any more of those bulbs. It’s a long trek back to the supply store.”

Quiverian shrugged. “First you say to hurry, then to be careful. Make up your mind.”

Saul realized the man would wear him into the ground it he remained here. “Just do the best you can.” He picked up a set of the spindly beacon lamps—meant to flash navigation/location reference to astronauts working on the moon or asteroids. He had an idea they might be useful in another function, here.

We’ll see if they’re any good against a form of life that lives in space.

He set forth in a low glide toward the entrance to Tunnel J, an amber-colored exit from the great chamber containing sleep slot 1. Right now the place was eerie with the lights dimmed low. The vaulted recesses seemed deeper, more mysterious, like naves in an ancient tomb. Fibercloth rounded the edges, but the vast cave was still an irregular hole deep under the ice. One didn’t dwell on how many tons hung overhead, in the kilometer or more to the surface.

At the center of the chamber floor, casting shadows in the light of a few active glow panels, the fore end of the slot tug Whipple lay at the center of five isles of casket-shaped containers—the individual resting places of more than a hundred hibernating men and women.

If we lose this battle, will any of these people ever see light again? Will they breathe, and laugh, and love?

Saul wondered, Does any of our desperation penetrate, and disturb their slow dreams?

It was dark as a sepulcher in here. It was also getting damn cold.

The lights were dimmed to save energy. The fusion pile had been damped two weeks ago, when all but fourteen humans had been cooled down, and everybody expected a long, quiet, boring watch ahead. Now there wasn’t the manpower to supervise a fully stoked reactor. Every hand was needed in the passages, in the utility corridors, or in sick bay.

Anyway, light was one of the things that attracted the lichenoids and the purple things. That and heat, and air, and food…

I guess it’s no accident we like the same things. The biggest difference is that the Halleyforms only experience spring briefly, every seventy-five years or so, when the heatwaves come migrating down from the sun-warmed surface. They’re built to act, and act fast, to take advantage of the sudden season.

Saul was still mystified by the abundance of types—by the complexity of the forms that fed on the green, algaelike growths. They violated the tenets of modern biology by existing at all.

But he was practical enough to stop muttering “Impossible!” to himself after a while. Later, he could try to discover an answer. Right now. he had to find ways to stop them.

He was getting better at low-G maneuvering. Still, his feet got in each other’s way on alighting near the open Tunnel J hatch.

Fortunately, there were only a few entrances to sleep slot 1. Tunnel J was the critical one. Only a few hundred yards down that way, and up one level, Carl Osborn and his tired crew were wearily scouring away the green Halleyform variants the spacers had taken to calling “gunk”… trying to rid a critical passage of the food supply grazed on by the horrible purple worms.

So far, liberal doses of certain antiseptics and synthetic herbicides seemed to be doing the trick… for now, at least. But we can’t rely on that forever.

Carefully he laid down three of the lamps and eased the fourth into position just past the open hatchway, in the tunnel proper. He had to hunt for the right electrical socket, and found it at last, partly hidden under a filmy cobweb of multicolored threads. These had to be brushed aside with his boot before he could plug the unit in and set the timer.

“Hello. Testing.” He tapped the little headset microphone that extended from under his wool cap.

“Lintz speech-routing to Spacer Osborn’s headset, please connect for conversation.” He knew there were more economical ways to ask the main computer to link him to Carl—he had seen the spacers chirp routing instructions in less time than it took to do a good hiccup—but he had forgotten the correct protocols. This way, at least, the machines were sure to understand.

A short pop, then a hissing carrier wave.

—Lintz, Osborn. What’s up, Saul?—

The reply in his left ear was spare, to say the least. But spacers were like that. Terseness didn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Carl, Joao Quiverian and I have finished checking out sleep slot one. Destroyed twenty-three infestations. Can’t be sure we didn’t overlook a few minor ones, but the slots don’t appear to be in immediate danger anymore.”

Saul quashed the tickling sensation of a threatening sneeze. He spoke quickly.

“I took an hour and went up to the surface to rummage through the storage tents, to see if there was anything we might use. There were a couple of dozen halogen-hydrogen space-signal lamps that gave me an idea. I figure we can place some at critical passage junctions and set them to bathe an area, at intervals, with intense ultraviolet. Who knows? It might slow the beasts down a bit.”

There was a pause before Carl answered again.

—Sounds reasonable. But we don’t want to blind or burn anybody.—

Saul nodded. “I thought of that. Brought down goggles and sun salve for the hall gangs. Also, I tore apart an unused mech-controller board and pulled out some type-five malfunction alarms… you know, the ones that go brrr-ap! brrr-ap!”

The carrier wave came on again, suddenly. It sounded like coughing until he realized Carl was laughing at his rendition. He grinned.

“Anyway, an alarm will go off a minute before each lamp is triggered. Both will stay on for five minutes on the hour.”

—Good enough. Where’ll you set ’em up?—

“At the entrances to each sleep slot, just outside Central, and along Shaft One. I’m not sure if we have enough power or bulbs to do more, so—”

Carl interrupted, —Fine, Saul. But I want to try them on something else, first. I’ll send Vidor and Ustinov down to pick up the goggles and half-a-dozen lamp.—

“What’s up?”

There was another brief pause. Then Carl confided.

We’re about to mount an assault on the purples that have surrounded the power plant. Maybe your idea will help there.

“Uh, I sure hope so.”

—Yeah. Anyway, give Garner a few more minutes, then wake him. Tell him he’s to come back with Vidor. We’re going to need every hand on this one. Osborn out.

The carrier wave clicked off. Saul stood very still for a moment, shaking his head.

The power plant. I had no idea.

No wonder Virginia had been so terse the last time he had called. He’d felt like a silly teenager, wondering if she still loved him, because she had blown him a hurried kiss and hustled him off the line.

She probably had her hands full right now, preparing mechs to help Carl. If any of a dozen conduits leading into or out of the pile were clogged by organic matter, it could trip an automatic shutdown. That, in turn, could mean the end for all of them.