Everyone kept their heads; Captain Leicester bellowed from the ,platform, "Get some lights in here; security, get some lights!" One of the young men on the Medic staff found a handlamp for the Captain and one of the bridge officers shouted, "Everyone! Stay in place and wait for orders, there is no danger here! Get those lights rigged as fast as you can!"

MacAran was near enough to the door to see the distant rising glare against the darkness. In a few minutes lamps were being distributed, and Moray, from the platform, said urgently, "Captain, we have tree-felling and earth-moving equipment. Let me order a detail to work on firebreaks around the encampment."

"Right, Mr. Moray. Get with it," Leicester said harshly. "All bridge officers, gather here; get to the ship and secure any flammable or explosive material." He hurried away toward the back of the tent. Moray ordered all able-bodied men to the clearing, and requisitioned all available handlamps not in use on the bridge. "Form up in the same squads you did for grave digging detail," he ordered. MacAran found himself in a crew with Father Valentine and eight strangers, felling trees in a ten-foot swath around the clearing. The fire was still a distant roar on a slope miles away, a red glare against the sky, but the air smelled of smoke, with a strange acrid undertone.

Someone said at MacAran's elbow, "How can the woods catch fire after all this rain?"

He brought back memory of something Marco Zabal had said that first night. "The trees are heavily resined--practically tinder. Some few of them may even burn when they're wet--we built a campfire of green wood. I suppose lightning can set off a fire at almost any time." We were lucky, he thought, we camped out in the center of the woods and never thought of fire, or of firebreaks.

"I suspect we'll need a permanent firebreak around any encampment or work area."

Father Valentine said, "You sound as if you thought we were going to be here a long time."

MacAran bent to his saw. He said, not looking up, "No matter whose side you're on--the Captain's or Moray's--it looks as if we'd be here for years." He was too weary, and too unsure of anything at this moment, to decide for himself if he had any real preference and in any case he was sure no one would consult him about his choice, but down deep he knew that if they ever left this world again he would regret it

Father Valentine touched his shoulder. "I think the Lieutenant is looking for you."

He straightened to see Camilla Del Rey walking toward him. She looked worn and haggard, her hair uncombed and her uniform dirty. He wanted to take her in his arms but instead he stood and watched her attempt not to meet his eyes as she said, "Rafe, the Captain wants to talk with you. You know the terrain better than anyone else. Do you think it could be fought or contained?"

"Not in the dark--and not without heavy equipment," MacAran said, but he accompanied her back toward the Captain's field quarters. He had to admire the efficiency with which the firebreak operation had been set up, the small amount of ship's firefighting equipment moved to the hospital. The Captain had sense enough to use Moray here. They're really two of a kind--if they could only work together for the same objectives. But just now they're the irresistible force and the immovable object.

The fine rain was changing to heavy sleet as they came into the dome. The small dark crowded dome was dimly lit by a single handlamp, and the battery seemed to be already failing.

Moray was saying: "--our power sources are already giving way. Before we can do anything else, sir, in your plan or mine, some sources of light and heat have to be found. We have wind-power and solar-power equipment in the colonizing materials, although I somehow doubt if this sun has enough light and radiation for much solar power. MacAran--" he turned, "I take it there are mountain streams? Any big enough for damming?"

"Not that we saw in the few days we were in the mountains," MacAran said, "but there's plenty of wind."

"That will do for a temporary makeshift," Captain Leicester said. "MacAran, do you know exactly where the fire is located?"

"Far enough to be no immediate danger to us," MacAran said, "although we're going to need firebreaks from now on, anywhere we go. But this fire's no danger, I think. The rain's turning to snow and I think that will smother it out."

"If it can burn in the rain--"

"Snow's wetter and heavier," MacAran said, and was interrupted by what sounded like a volley of gunfire "What's that?"

Moray said, "Game stampede--probably getting away from the fire. Your officers are shooting food. Captain once again, I suggest conservation of ammunition for absolute emergencies. Even on Earth, game has been hunter recreationally with bow and arrow. There are prototype in the recreation department, and we'll need them for enlarging the food supply."

"Full of ideas, aren't you," Leicester grunted, and Moray said, tight-mouthed, "Captain, running a spaceship is your business. Setting up a viable society with the most economical use of resources is mine."

For a moment the two men stared at one another in the failing light, the others in the dome forgotten. Camilla had edged around behind the Captain and it seemed to MacAran that she was supporting him mentally as well as backing him up physically. Outside there were all the noises of the camp, and behind it all the small hiss of snow striking the dome. Then a gust of high wind struck it and a blast of cold air came in through the flapping doorway; Camilla ran to shut it, struggling against the wild blast, and was flung back. The door swung wildly, came loose from the makeshift hinges and knocked the girl off her feet; MacAran ran to help her up. Captain Leicester swore softly and began to shout for one of his aides.

Moray raised a hand. He said quietly, "We need stronger and more permanent shelters, Captain. These were built to last six weeks. May I order them built to last for a few years, then?"

Captain Leicester was silent, and with that new and exaggerated sensitivity it almost seemed to MacAran that he could hear what the Captain was thinking. Was this an entering wedge? Could he use Moray's undoubted talents without giving him too much power over the colonists, and diminishing his own? When he spoke his voice was bitter; but he gave way gracefully.

"You know survival, Mr. Moray. I'm a scientist--and a spaceman. I'll put you in charge of the camp, on a temporary basis. Get your priorities in order and requisition what you need." He strode to the door and stood there looking out at the whirling snow. "No fire can live in that. Call in the men and feed them before they go back to making firebreaks. You're in charge, Moray--for the time being." His back was straight and indomitable, but he sounded tired. Moray bowed slightly. There was no hint of subservience in it.

"Don't think I'm giving way," Leicester warned. "That ship is going to be repaired."

Moray shrugged a little. "Maybe so. But it can't be repaired unless we survive long enough to do it. For now, that's all I'm concerned about."

He turned to Camilla and MacAran, ignoring the Captain.

"MacAran, your party knows at least some of the terrain. I want a local survey made of all resources, including food--Dr. Lovat can handle that. Lieutenant Del Rey, you're a navigator; you have access to instruments. Can you arrange to make some sort of climate survey which we might manage to use for weather prediction?" He broke off. "The middle of the night isn't the time for this. We'll get moving tomorrow." He moved to the door and, finding his way blocked by Captain Leicester standing and staring into the whirling snowflakes, tried to move past him a time or two, finally touched him on the shoulder. The Captain started and moved aside. Moray said, "The first thing to do is to get those poor devils in out of the storm. Will you give orders, Captain, or shall I?"