Birthright

couldn't hack it,” said Nelson.

“And forfeit two million bucks?” demanded Bowman. “I'd say the cards are stacked against us, Milt,” said Nelson. “Item: The gravity is too heavy for us to land. Item: The air is both unbreathable and radioactive. Item: Even if a Pioneer-type ship could land, it would melt before it could take off again. Item: No permanent base could be set up, even if we solved all those problems, because the planet's temperature is going to double in another ten years. Item: If none of the preceding items were enough to dissuade us, we still don't know when an explosion will come along and blow us straight to hell and back. Item—” “Well, they never said it was going to be easy,” said Bowman with a smile. Three days later the smile was long gone and forgotten. The ship's sensing devices had logged 129 more explosions, and the computer had verified that all were totally spontaneous and patternless. “And if that isn't enough,” said Bowman, checking the readout, “it looks as if the planet is getting smaller by the minute. Not enough so you'd notice it, but enough so it will finally blow itself to pieces in another four or five thousand years.”

“Well, what next?” asked Nelson.

“I'm running out of ideas,” said Bowman. “I was up all night with the computer. According to our mechanical comrade, all we have to do is get a superstrong mining ship and develop immunities to heat, radiation, and things that go bang in the night.” A week later things weren't appreciably better. The two Pioneers had shot a dozen probes into the planet; one had been demolished in an explosion within minutes, and the others were deactivated by heat and radiation shortly thereafter. They had sent a mechanical drone out to take a sample of the upper layer of the atmosphere, and the gravity had pulled it to the planet's surface, destroying it before it could feed its findings into the computer. They had tightened their orbit, and had barely escaped with their lives. They had shot two nuclear devices into the planet's stratosphere and exploded them, with no noticeable effect in either creating or alleviating the natural explosions. And they had played 3,407 hands of blackjack, also without producing any solution to their problem. “You know,” said Bowman, “a person could go absolutely nuts trying to crack this planet. How the hell do you take a world that's having nuclear fits and turn it into a nice place to visit? Well, back to the drawing board,” he finished, turning to the computer. The drawing board was no help. There were simply no analogous situations stored within its memory banks.

“We could tie in with the Master Computer on Deluros VIII,” suggested Nelson. “It might know something that our baby is overlooking.” “Sure,” said Bowman sarcastically. “And pay out a million-dollar fee for the privilege. Hell, I'd sooner forfeit the contract. I hooked in once when I was a novice and spent my next five contracts paying it off.” “Then what do you suggest?”

“I don't know. We'll just keep trying. Sooner or later we've got to learn something about this goddamn