“We’ll worry about that when the[28] time comes. But I think not. I’d rather stay here.”

[28]

“For the present, perhaps,” snapped Bordman. “But before things get too bad you go back to the ship! They’ve rocket fuel enough for half a dozen landings of the landing boat. They can lift you out of here!”

Aletha shrugged.

“Why leave here to board a derelict? The Warlock’s practically that. What’s your honest estimate of the time before a ship equipped to help us gets here?”

Bordman would not answer. He’d done some figuring. It had been a two-month journey from Trent—the nearest Survey base—to here. The Warlock had been expected to remain aground until the smelter it brought could load it with pig metal. Which could be as little as two weeks, but would surprise nobody if it was two months instead. So the ship would not be considered due back on Trent for four months. It would not be considered overdue for at least two more. It would be six months before anybody seriously wondered why it wasn’t back with its cargo. There’d be a wait for lifeboats to come in, should there have been a mishap in space. There’d eventually be a report of noncommunication to the Colony Survey headquarters on Canna III. But it would take three months for that report to be received, and six more for a confirmation—even if ships made the voyages exactly at the most favorable intervals—and then there should at least be a complaint from the colony. There were lifeboats aground on Xosa II, for emergency communication, and if a lifeboat didn’t bring news of a planetary crisis, no crisis would be considered to exist. Nobody could imagine a landing grid failing!

Maybe in a year somebody would think that maybe somebody ought to ask around about Xosa II. It would be much longer before somebody put a note on somebody else’s desk that would suggest that when, or if, a suitable ship passed near Xosa II, or if one should be available for the inquiry, it might be worth while to have the noncommunication from the planet looked into. Actually, to guess at three years before another ship arrived would be the most optimistic of estimates.

“You’re a civilian,” said Bordman shortly. “When the food and water run low, you go back to the ship. You’ll at least be alive when somebody does come to see what’s the matter here!”

Aletha said mildly:

“Maybe I’d rather not be alive. Will you go back to 

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