The ship Brainchild around her destination, waiting the final she on the below.
It was not a planet. As as its size went, it be as “Earth type,” but size was almost the only to Earth. It in space some five hundred and fifty miles from its Sol-like parent—a little away from the than Jupiter is from Sol itself. It was cold there—terribly cold. At high on the equator, the temperature a 180° absolute; it toward the poles.
H2O was, on the planet, a whitish, for material. The was to that of Jupiter, although the of methane, ammonia, and were different of the of the planet. It had managed to a great more in its than Earth had of the that the of the was much lower. Since oxygen-releasing life had on the surface of the planet, there was no in the atmosphere. It was all up in with the of the ice and the surface of the planet.
The Space Service ship that had the planet, fifteen years before, had it the name Eisberg, thus the name of a second class who to have the luck to be (a) named Robert Eisberg, (b) a of the of the ship to the planet, and (c) under the of a fun-loving captain.
Eisberg had been as the to transfer the Snookums to for two reasons. In the place, if Snookums actually did solve the problem of the total-annihilation bomb, the he do was a that wasn’t much good, anyway. And, in the second place, the same energy on Eisberg as did on Chilblains Base. It was to the of the brain if it only had to be 175 or so.
It was a great place for cold-work labs, but not anything for colonization.
Chief Powerman’s Mate Multhaus looked at the on the landing sheet.
Mike the Angel the on the chief’s and said: “What’s the matter, Multhaus? No like?”
Multhaus grimaced. “Well, sir, I don’t like it, no. But I can’t say I it, either.”
He at the landing sheet, his lips. He looked as though he were himself from questions about the other night’s escapade—which he was.
He said: “I just don’t like to land without jets, sir; that’s all.”
“Hell, neither do I,” Mike. “But we’re not going to any other way. We managed to take off without jets; we’ll manage to land without them.”
“Yessir,” said Multhaus, “but we took off with the of Earth’s magnetic field. We’re landing across the grain.”
“Sure,” said Mike. “So what? If we the motors, that’s okay. We may be able to off the with this ship again, but we aren’t to anyway.
“Come on, Multhaus, don’t worry about it. I know you to up a ship, but this one is to be expendable. You may have another like this.”
Multhaus to keep from grinning, but he couldn’t. “Awright, Commander. You have to my instincts. My to a has been to the surface. I can’t it. Am I nutty, maybe?”
“Not now, you’re not,” Mike said, back.
“We’ll have a of a job through the plasmasphere, though,” said the chief. “That of a second will—”
“It’ll us,” Mike agreed, interrupting. “But it won’t us. Let’s going.”
“Aye, sir,” said Multhaus.
The of Eisberg were liquid ammonia. Near the equator, they were liquid; north, the with ammonia.
The site for the new of the Computer Corporation of Earth was in the northern hemisphere, at 40° north latitude, about the same from the as New York or Madrid, Spain, would be on Earth. The Brainchild would be through Eisberg’s magnetic at an angle, but it wouldn’t be the ninety-degree of the equator. It would have been if the have been at one of the poles, but that would have put the in an position, since there was no solid land at either pole.
Mike the Angel didn’t like the idea of having to land on Eisberg without any more than Multhaus did, but he was almost that the ship would take the strain.
He took the up to the Control Bridge, in, and the landing to Black Bart. The captain at it, shrugged, and put it on his desk.
“Will we make it, sir?” Mike said. “Any word from the Fireball?”
Black Bart nodded. “She’s the atmosphere. Captain Wurster will send a ship to us up as soon as we’ve our here.”
The Fireball, being much than the Brainchild, had left Earth later than the slower ship, and had earlier.
“Now this! Now this! Third Warning! Landing in one minute! Landing in one minute!”
Sixty later the Brainchild her long, toward the surface of Eisberg.
Landing a ship on her isn’t an easy job, but at least an is for the job. Maybe the Translation drive will be for landings, but so such a landing has been, as someone put it, “50 energy and 50 prayer.” The landing was than the take-off, a which has since the took off from the surface of Earth in the nineteenth century. What goes up doesn’t necessarily have to come down, but when it does, the job is a than up was.
The of Eisberg from that of Earth in two ways. First, the of radiation—the star—was away from Eisberg than Sol was from Earth, which to the total ionization. Second, the upper of Eisberg was much pure hydrogen, which is to than or nitrogen. And, since there was no to out the UV from the primary, the of the the was greater.
Not until the Brainchild the of the upper did she act any than she had in space.
But when she the of the ionosphere—that upper of protons, the moving of high as the plasmasphere—she like a horse. From her vitals, the began, a strumming, with a higher note upon it, making a like that of a being on its string.
It was not the of the that the drive of the Brainchild; it was the duration. The of was too thick; the ship couldn’t make it through the fast enough, in of her high velocity.
A man can a red-hot of in his hand for a of a second without it. But if he has to a potato for thirty seconds, he’s likely to a burn.
So it was with the Brainchild. The passage through Earth’s take-off had been in of a second. The Brainchild had reacted, but the to the had been too to her.
The of Eisberg was much and, although the was less, the was much longer.
The as she fell, a low-frequency, high-energy that the ship more than had the out-of-phase that had the ship after her take-off.
Dr. Morris Fitzhugh, the roboticist, into the intercom, but Captain Sir Henry Quill cut him off anyone took notice and let the scientist into a pickup.
“How’s she coming?”
The voice came over the to the Power Section, and Mike the Angel that the question was meant for him.
“She’ll make it, Captain,” he said. “She’ll make it. I designed this thing for a 500 overload. She’ll make it.”
“Good,” said Black Bart, off the intercom.
Mike gustily. His were still on the that higher and higher along the of the meters. Many of them had long since passed the red lines that marked the point. Mike the Angel that those points had been set low, but he also that they were the point.
He took another and it.
Point for point, the of Antarctica, Earth, is one of the most on a that is non-inimical to man. Earth is a nice, planet, most of the time, but Antarctica just doesn’t to Man at all.
Still, it just to be the spot on the best in the Galaxy.
Eisberg is different. At its best, it has the of Antarctica four thousand from a week ago last Candlemas. At its worst, it is death; at its best, it is less than sudden.
Not that Eisberg is a planet; Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, or Neptune can kill a man and with less pain. No, Eisberg isn’t mean—it’s torturous. A man without clothes, on the surface of Eisberg—anywhere on the surface—would die. But the trouble is that he’d live long for it to hurt.
Man can survive, all right, but it takes and to do it.
When the ship Brainchild a tube—just one tube—of the that the ship’s against the space-strain of the planet’s field, the ship off orbit. The when she was some ninety miles above the surface. She too fast, up, again.
When the for the tube, the was more leisurely, and the ship settled gently—well, not gently—on the surface of Eisberg.
Captain Quill’s voice came over the intercom.
“We are nearly a hundred miles from the base, Mister Gabriel. Any excuse?”
“No excuse, sir,” said Mike the Angel.
