The three Artists swiveled and departed. In turn, Carl and Jeffers strode off toward the nearby tunnel lock.

Saul brought the mech’s hand to his faceplate, pantomiming a kiss. —I must go too, darling. Don’t wait up for me.—

“But, but… I thought you’d come down now. We could spend some time together. Saul, you’ve been away for nearly a week.”

—Oh, now, Virginia. We talk several times a day.—

“Through one of my mechs!” A robot foot kicked up dark dust near his leg. “It’s not the same!”

He nodded, grinning infuriatingly.

—I know. I miss you too. Terribly. It’s just…—

He shook his head.

—It’s just that I have to verify something. It’s too damn important to wait. And I can’t tell anybody yet… not even you… not until I know for sure if…—

His voice trailed off as he backed away toward the airlock. Virginia knew the look on his face, that faraway, scientific look. He was already somewhere else.

“Until you know what?” she asked. “What is all this, Saul?”

He shrugged.

—Until I know for sure if I’m crazy… or if I’m…—

The last word was a mumble, something in one of Saul’s foreign languages.

“What?”

But he only blew her a kiss then, and spun about to lope toward the tunnel entrance.

The part of her that was above the surface, linked to a machine of metal and ceramic, watched him until the doors closed, leaving her locked out in the chilly night.

Deep under the ice, the rest of her was no less in darkness.

He found Lieutenant Commander Osborn up at Greenhouse 3. Carl stood before a forty-meter dome window, wearing stained, patched spacesuit without tabard. The spacer held a battered helmet in the crook of his arm and looked out onto the garbage-strewn plain of dirty ice.

What a mess, Saul thought, looking over the tattered warehouse tents, the broken mooring mast where that unlucky ship Edmund Halley had once been tethered. At last Saul realized what was bothering him most. It was too dim here in the greenhouse.

He looked up at the spider-thin towers holding one of the huge concentrator mirrors-salvaged from the space tug Delsemme’s great solar sail. Two guy wires had snapped. A whole quadrant of the big collector drooped.

Out on the surface, a single figure picked desultorily through the debris, presumably looking for material from which to make repairs. He seemed not to be in any hurry.

Within, things weren’t much better. The four men and three women on this shift tended the slowly moving belts of drip-irrigated sweet potatoes, clearing debris from the plastic tracks and cleaning the nutrient-spray jets. It was vital duty, but they moved without apparent enthusiasm.

Three of the newly reprogrammed mechs followed the workers around, but nobody seemed even interested in training them in the new hydroponics procedures. The belts ground on; plants drooped in the dim illumination.

Saul was shaken when he recognized the sigil on the workers’ clothes—the staircase and star that stood for Plateau Three.

Spacers!. They’re the last people I’d expect to give up.

Saul saw the expression on Carl Osborn’s face as the man gazedout over the icefield. Isuppose you can’t blame him if he’s lost hope, too, Saul thought. He’s obstinate, and made of strong stuff. But everyone has a limit.

He’s run the same simulations I have. He knows what’ll happen if things go on this way.

Even if everyone pitched in and cooperated, with all the mechs in the world, there would still be nowhere near enough manpower to set up the Nudge Launchers properly, let alone do all the work needed to keep things from going to hell. I’m surprised he even goes through the motions, believing that.

Saul smiled. He planned on changing Carl’s mind about the future.

This time, I swear, we won’t misunderstand each other. Saul hoped that his good news would make Carl forgive even Virginia’s poor choice in men.

I never thought of it before, but with that touch of gray at the sides, and that cool gaze, he sort of resembles Simon Percell!

“Yes?” Carl said as he approached. “You told me you were going to do a bioinventory of the colony. You’ve got a report already?”

“That’s right.” Saul nodded. “But I don’t think you’re going to be very ready to believe it.”

Carl lifted his shoulders. “Bad news doesn’t frighten me anymore.”

Saul couldn’t help letting out a short, sharp laugh. The sound was abrupt, unexpected in this solemn place. Carl’s eyes narrowed.

“You misunderstand me.” Saul grinned. “Either I have gone mad—in which case the news is neutral to good from your point of view—or I have made a discovery which bodes very well, indeed.”

Carl stood quite still. His body remained in a spacer’s crouch, arms forward, knees bent. Only a twitch of his cheek betrayed a hint of feeling, but it was enough for Saul.

Is hope, then, so very painful? He may hate me, but he knows I have pulled rabbits out of hats before.

Saul reminded himself not to be too quick to judge. To a man who has seen the face of Death, and learned resignation, hope is often the most frightening thing of all.

“Explain, please,” the younger man said softly.

“Come with me to my lab,” Saul told him “Even with graphic displays, I’m not sure I can make it clear. But I have to share this. It may be the Infinite’s ultimate joke on a man who had the unrepentant gall to try to play God.”

“I see,” Carl told him after half an hour. “You’ve found infestations of cometary flora and fauna in every single living crew member, in every clan, even in the few people we never unslotted at all.”

Saul nodded. “Even Virginia’s bio-organic computer, JonVon, seems to be suffering from an infection. The thing’s not really alive, of course, but something’s gotten into it. I’m working to find a way to treat it.”

Carl shrugged. “I’ve tried hard to get it through the Ubers’ and Arcists’ heads that their war hardly matters, anymore. Percell, Ortho, everybody isdying.”

He started to get up. “You may have done us a service at that, Saul. Write me up a concise report for distribution. It may help us all make peace with each other, in the time we have left.’

Saul stopped him with a gesture. “Sit down, please. I’m not finished yet.”

Carl settled back into the webbing, reluctantly.

“So what else is there?”

“Remember that bioanalysis I performed on my own body?”

“Sure.” Carl nodded. “Except for your reproductive system—and that perpetual sniffle of yours—you’re fairly healthy. I’m sorry you’re sterile, Saul. And I’m glad for you that the comet bugs seem to be killing you slower than most.”

“Carl, they aren’t killing me at all.”

The other man snapped a cold look at Saul. “Don’t be an ass! Your chart showed an asymptotically increasing.”

“Increasing variety of infesting organisms, same as everybody else. By normal logic I can’t keep fighting all these infections much longer. Sooner or later one will wreck my immune system, opening me wide to all the others. Is that the pattern you’re thinking of?”

Carl nodded. “I’ve studied a lot of medical biology, over my last five duration years.”

“I guess you had to, since Svatuto quit as your doctor.”

“Right. And since Earth stopped giving advice that was worth a tinker’s damn.” Carl grimaced, remembering bitterly. “During my shifts I’ve seen guys live for years with green-tinted skins and low fevers, fighting on like champions… only to fall to pieces—literally—when that last straw hit.”

Saul shrugged. “That was them.”

“And you’re different?” Carl sneered. “You’resomehow especially blessed?”

Saul wanted to laugh. Blessed? Oh, Miriam, what has the almighty done to your simple Saul?