Eden

I

Because of a miscalculation, the craft dipped too low and hit the atmosphere with an earsplitting scream. Lying flat in their bunks, the men could hear the dampers being crushed. The front screens showed flame and went black; the cushion of incandescent gas at the bow was too much for the outside cameras. The control room filled with the stench of hot rubber. Under the force of the deceleration, the men temporarily lost their vision, their hearing. This was the end.

No one could think. No one had the strength, even, to inhale. Breathing was done for them by the oxypulsators, forcing air into them as into straining balloons. Then the roar abated. The emergency lights went on, six on either side. The crew stirred. Above the cracked instrument panel, the warning signal showed red. Pieces of insulation and Plexiglas rustled across the floor. There was no roar now, only a dull whistle.

“What —” croaked the Doctor after spitting out his rubber mouthpiece.

“Stay down!” warned the Captain, who was watching the one undamaged screen.

The ship somersaulted, as if hit by a battering ram. The nylon netting that enfolded them twanged like the string of a musical instrument. For a moment everything was poised upside down, and then the engine began to rumble.

Muscles that had tensed in anticipation of the final blow relaxed. The ship, atop a vertical column of exhaust flame, slowly descended; the nozzles throbbed reassuringly. This lasted several minutes. Then the walls throbbed; the vibration increased — the turbine bearings must have worked loose. The men looked at one another. They knew that everything depended now on whether or not the vanes would hold.

The control room suddenly shook, as though a steel hammer were striking it furiously from the outside. The last screen became covered with a cluster of circles; the convex phosphorescent shield darkened. The faint light of the emergency lamps cast enlarged shadows of the men on the sloping walls.

Now the engine howled. Beneath them there was a grating, a breaking; then something split with a shrill sound. Jolted repeatedly, the hull was like a blind and lifeless thing. They held their breath in the darkness. Their bodies suddenly were flung against the nylon cords, but did not strike the shattered panels, which would have torn the mesh. The men swayed like pendulums…

The ship seemed to move in an avalanche. There were distant, dull reverberations. Lumps of earth that had been thrown up slid along the outer hull with a feeble sound.

All motion stopped. Beneath the men, something gurgled. The gurgling became louder, more rapid — the sound of water leaking — and there was a repeated, penetrating hiss, as though drops were falling, one by one, on heated metal.

“We’re alive,” said the Chemist. In total darkness, he could not see a thing. He was hanging in his nylon bag fastened on four sides by cords. The ship had to be lying on its side: otherwise the berth would have been horizontal. There was a crackle, and the pale glimmer of the Doctor’s old lighter.

“Roll call,” said the Captain. A cord on his bag snapped, causing him to rotate slowly, helplessly.

He reached out through the nylon netting and tried unsuccessfully to grab a knob on the wall.

“Here,” said the Engineer.

“Here,” said the Physicist.

“Here,” said the Chemist.

“I’m here,” said the Cyberneticist, holding his head.

“And here, that’s six,” said the Doctor.

“All present and accounted for. Congratulations.” The Captain’s voice was calm. “And the robots?” There was no reply.

“Robots!!”

Silence. The lighter burned the Doctor’s fingers; he put it out. “I always said we were made of better stuff.”

“Anyone have a knife?”

“I do. Should I cut the cords?”

“It would be better if someone could crawl out without cutting them. I can’t.”

“I’ll try.”

Struggling, heavy breathing, then a pounding, and a grinding of glass.

“I’m at the bottom. On the wall, that is,” said the Chemist. “Doctor, throw a little light here, so I can help you.”

“Hurry up. The thing’s almost out of fluid.” The lighter brightened again. The Chemist went to the Captain’s cocoon but could reach no farther than the legs. At last he managed to open a side zipper, and the Captain dropped to his feet with a thud. The two of them together could work faster. Soon everyone was standing on the slanted wall of the control room, which had a semi-elastic covering.

“Where do we begin?” asked the Doctor, applying a band-aid to the cut on the Cyberneticist’s forehead. The Doctor always carried odds and ends in his pockets.

“We see if we can get out,” replied the Captain. “First we need light. Doctor, shine it over here — there may still be current in the panel, or at least in the alarm system.”

This time, the lighter produced only a spark. The Doctor thumbed the flint over and over again above the Captain and the Engineer as they rummaged through fragments of metal on their knees.

“Found anything yet?” asked the Chemist, behind them.

“Nothing yet. Anyone have a match?”

“The last time I saw matches was three years ago. In a museum,” the Engineer muttered indistinctly. He was attempting to strip the end of a wire with his teeth. Suddenly a small blue glow filled the Captain’s cupped hands.

“Here’s current,” he said. “Now for a bulb.”

They found an undamaged bulb in an emergency display above a side panel. A sharp electric light illuminated the control room, giving it the look of a tunnel with curved walls. High above them was the door.

“More than twenty feet,” said the Chemist gloomily. “How are we going to get up there?”

“I once saw, in a circus, five men standing on top of one another,” said the Doctor.

“We’re not acrobats. We can climb up the floor,” the Captain said. He took the Chemist’s knife and began making cuts in the spongy floor covering.

“Steps?”

“Yes.”

“Why is the Cyberneticist so quiet?” asked the Engineer. He was sitting on the shattered instrument panel, applying a voltmeter to some protruding cables.

“The man feels orphaned,” replied the Doctor with a smile. “What’s a cyberneticist without his robots?”

“I’ll fix them,” said the Cyberneticist. He was looking at the screens. Their yellow glow grew dimmer.

“The accumulator, too,” muttered the Physicist. The Engineer got to his feet.

“So it would appear.”

A quarter of an hour later, the six-man expedition was working its way toward the front of the ship. First they entered the corridor; from there they went to their separate quarters. In the Doctor’s cabin they found an old flashlight. (The Doctor liked to collect things.) They took it with them. There was devastation everywhere. The furniture, bolted to the floor, had not been damaged, but the instruments, tools, vehicles, and supplies made a sea of junk through which they waded.

“Now let’s try to get out,” said the Captain when they were back in the corridor.

“What about suits?”

“They’re in the air lock. They should be all right. But we won’t need suits. Eden has a breathable atmosphere.”

“Has anyone ever been here before?”

“There was a cosmic probe twelve years ago, when Altain disappeared with his ship. Remember?”

“But no men landed?”

“No, none.”

The inner hatch was overhead, at an angle. Their feeling of unfamiliarity — because the walls were floors and the ceilings walls — gradually passed.

“Here we will need a living ladder,” declared the Captain. He began a careful inspection of the inner hatch with the Doctor’s flashlight. The hermetic seal was intact.

“Looks good,” said the Cyberneticist, craning his neck.

“Yes,” agreed the Engineer. He had feared that the terrific force that bent the girders and crushed the main instrument panel between them might also have jammed the inner hatch — but he had kept the thought to himself. The Captain asked the Chemist to stand by the wall and bend over.

“Legs apart, hands on your knees — it’ll be more comfortable for you that way.”

“I always wanted to be in the circus!” the Chemist said, crouching. The Captain placed a foot on his shoulder, climbed up, and, pressing against the wall, caught hold of the nickel-plated lever with his fingertips.

He tugged at it, then hung from it. With a grating sound, as though the lock mechanism were full of crushed glass, it made a quarter-turn and stopped.

“Are you pulling in the right direction?” asked the Doctor, who was shining the flashlight from below. “The ship is on its side.”

“I’ve taken that into account.”

“You can’t pull it a little harder?”

The Captain said nothing. Hanging from the lever with one hand, he tried bringing the other hand up as well. This was difficult because of his position, but he finally managed it. He drew up his knees to avoid kicking the Chemist beneath him and gave the lever several jerks — by pulling himself up and then dropping with the full weight of his body. He grunted when his torso hit the wall.

On the third or fourth drop, the lever moved a little more. There were still about two inches to go. The Captain braced himself and did one more drop. The lever engaged the catch with an awful squeak: the bolt had been pulled.

“Perfect, perfect,” said the Physicist, delighted.

The Engineer said nothing, his mind elsewhere.

Now they worked at opening the inner hatch — a more difficult task. The Engineer tried the handle of the chamber door, but knew it was hopeless: the pipes had burst in a number of places and all the fluid had leaked out. In the light of the Doctor’s flashlight, the wheel gleamed above them like a halo, too high for their gymnastic abilities: more than twelve feet.

They gathered broken equipment, cushions, books. The library proved particularly useful, with its thick celestial atlases. Under the Engineer’s direction, after a few false starts, the men built a pyramid of these, like bricks. It took them almost an hour to make a six-foot pile.

“I hate physical work,” wheezed the Doctor. The flashlight, wedged into an aperture in an air-conditioning unit, lit their way as they hurried to the library and returned, their arms filled with books.

“I would never have believed that such makeshift measures could be taken — on stellar voyages.” He was the only one talking now. At last the Captain, helped by his colleagues, gingerly climbed the pyramid and touched the wheel with his fingers.

“Not quite,” he said. “Two inches short. If I jump, the whole thing will come down.”

“I happen to have here The Theory of Tachyons,” said the Doctor, hefting a volume in his hand.

“That should do the trick.”

The Captain clung to the wheel; as the flashlight moved, his shadow leaped across the white plastic that covered what was now the ceiling. Suddenly the mountain of books shifted.

“Careful,” said the Physicist.

“There’s nothing to push against,” complained the Captain in a muffled voice. “Damn!” The wheel slipped from his hands. He swayed for a moment, then regained his balance. No one looked up now; the men linked arms and pressed the unstable structure from all sides to keep it from separating. The Captain caught hold of the wheel again. Suddenly there was a scraping sound, and the books tumbled. He hung in midair — but the wheel had made a complete turn.

“Eleven more times,” he said, dropping onto the pile of books.

Two hours later, the problem of the inner hatch had been solved. When it began to open, the entire crew cheered.

Suspended halfway up the corridor, the open hatch formed a kind of platform from which the chamber could be entered without much difficulty. The suits turned out to be undamaged. The lockers that contained them were now horizontal. The men walked across the locker doors.

“Do we all leave?” asked the Chemist.

“First let’s see if we can open the outer hatch…”

But the thing would not budge, as if the levers had fused with the main body. All six pushed together with their shoulders; then they tried turning the screws in different ways, but the screws would not turn.

“Arriving is easy — the hard thing is to disembark,” concluded the Doctor.

“Very clever,” muttered the Engineer. The sweat was burning his eyes. They sat down on the locker doors.

“I’m starved,” the Cyberneticist said in the general silence.

“We’d better get something to eat,” said the Physicist. He offered to go to the storeroom.

“The kitchen would be better. There’s food in the freezer…”

“I can’t do it by myself. There’s a ton of junk in the way. Any volunteers?”

The Doctor agreed to go; then the Chemist reluctantly stood up. When their heads disappeared over the edge of the half-open inner hatch, and the last gleam of the flashlight, which they took with them, was gone, the Captain said in a hushed voice:

“I didn’t want to say anything. You understand the situation?”

“Yes,” said the Engineer. In the darkness, he touched the Captain’s shoe and kept his hand on it.

He needed the contact.

“You think we can cut through the outer hatch?”

“With what?” asked the Engineer.

“We have a blowtorch.”

“Did you ever hear of a blowtorch that could cut through a foot and a half of ceramite?”

They fell silent. From the depths of the ship came a hollow noise, as if from a vault.

“What’s that?” asked the Cyberneticist nervously. He got up.

“Sit down,” said the Captain gently but firmly.

“Do you think the door… fused with the hull?”

“I don’t know,” the Engineer replied.

“Do you have any idea what happened?”

“We ran into atmosphere at cosmic velocity, where atmosphere should not have been. Yet the autopilot could not have made an error.”

“The autopilot didn’t make the error, we did,” said the Captain. “We forgot to correct for the tail.”

“What tail?”

“The gas that extends behind every planet with an atmosphere, in the direction opposite to its motion. You didn’t know that?”

“Yes, of course. So we fell into such a tail? But it must be extremely attenuated.”

“Ten to the minus six,” said the Captain. “Or on that order. But we were traveling at more than forty-five miles a second, my friend. It stopped us like a wall. That was the first impact, remember?”

“Yes,” said the Engineer, “and when we entered the stratosphere, we were still doing six or seven. We really ought to have smashed to pieces. It’s strange that the ship withstood it.”

“Strange?”

“She’s designed for a load factor of twenty, and before the screen blew, I saw with my own eyes how the arrow jumped off the scale. The scale goes up to thirty.”

“And how about us?”

“What do you mean?”

“How were we able to withstand a constant deceleration of thirty g’s?”

“Not constant. At the maximum, yes. After all, the retarders gave their all. That’s what started the pulsation.”

“But the autopilot equalized. It was the air compressors…” said the Cyberneticist with annoyance in his voice. In the depths of the ship something began rolling. It sounded like iron wheels on sheet metal. Then it stopped.

“Don’t blame the air compressors,” said the Engineer. “If we went to the engine room, I could show you that they did five times more than they were supposed to do. Remember, they’re only auxiliary units. First of all, their bearings were loosened, and when the pulsation began —”

“You think there was resonance?”

“Resonance is a different matter. The fact is, we should have been smeared across several miles of space, like that freighter on Neptune — remember? You’ll believe me when you see the engine room. I can tell you now what’s there.”

“I’m in no hurry to see the engine room. What’s taking them so long? I can’t see a thing.”

“We’ll have light, don’t worry,” said the Engineer, unaware that he still had his fingertips on the shoe of the Captain, who remained silent and did not move.

“Let’s go to the engine room, then. It’ll kill time. What else can we do?”

“You really think we won’t get out of here?”

“I was just joking. I always joke.”

“Enough of that,” said the Captain, coming alive. “Anyway, in a pinch, there’s the emergency hatch.”

“Which happens to be underneath us. The ship must have cut one hell of a trench, and I’m not even sure the outer hatch is above ground.”

“We have tools. We can dig a tunnel.”

“And the loading bay?” asked the Cyberneticist.

“Submerged,” the Engineer said. “I looked into the shaft. One of the main tanks must have burst.

There’s at least six feet of water there. And probably radioactive.”

“How do you know?”

“The reactor cooling system always gives out first — you didn’t know that? Forget the loading bay. We’ll have to get out this way, unless —”

“Unless we dig a tunnel,” the Captain said softly.

“Yes, that is possible,” the Engineer agreed, and fell silent. There was the sound of footsteps; sudden light in the corridor beneath them made them blink.

“Ham, crackers, tongue, whatever you like. Everything in cans! There’s chocolate, too, and we have thermoses,” the Doctor shouted, clambering up first. He shined the flashlight for the others as they entered the chamber and passed out cans and aluminum plates.

“The thermoses are intact,” the Cyberneticist observed, pouring coffee into his mug.

“Yes, and the cans held up well, too. But the refrigeration units, the ovens, the small molecular synthesizer, the water filters — they’re all smashed.”

“And the purifier?”

“That, too. We could repair it if we had the tools. But it’s a vicious circle — to get a repair robot going you need current, but you can’t get current unless you fix the generator, and to fix the generator you need a repair robot.”

“So you’ve been deliberating, my scientific colleagues? What ray of hope have you to offer us?” asked the Doctor, spreading crackers with butter and laying slices of ham on top. Not waiting for a reply, he continued:

“The science-fiction books I read as a kid must outweigh this poor wreck of ours, yet not once did I come across a story anything like what has happened to us.”

“Because it’s so prosaic,” the Cyberneticist said, grimacing.

“Yes, this is something original — a kind of interplanetary Robinson Crusoe,” said the Doctor.

He sealed the thermos. “When I get back, I must try to write it, to the best of my ability.”

They began gathering the cans. The Physicist suggested throwing them into the lockers with the suits. The men had to press against the wall so the doors — on the floor — could be shut.

“You know, we heard a strange noise while we were rummaging in the storeroom,” said the Chemist.

“What kind of noise?”

“As though something were crushing the ship.”

“A rock?” asked the Cyberneticist.

“It’s something quite different,” the Engineer said. “When we hit the atmosphere, the external shield reached a very high temperature. The prow may have begun to melt. And now parts of the frame are cooling and shifting, and internal pressures will develop. Hence the noise. You can hear it even now. Listen…”

They heard a groan in the interior of the craft — then a series of short, diminishing cracks — then silence.

“One of the robots, do you think?” said the Cyberneticist, hope in his voice.

“You saw how it was with the robots.”

“But we didn’t look into the reserve hold.” The Cyberneticist leaned out over the edge of the platform and shouted into the dark corridor, “Reserve robots!”

His voice echoed. Silence was the only reply.

“Come, let’s take a good look at this hatch,” said the Engineer. He knelt at the slightly concave plate, shone the light along its rim, inch by inch. In the same way he checked the seals, which were covered with a network of tiny cracks.

“Nothing melted from the inside, which isn’t surprising, since ceramite conducts heat poorly.”

“Maybe we should try once more?” suggested the Doctor, touching the wheel of the outer hatch.

“There’s no point,” said the Chemist.

The Engineer placed his hand on the hatch, then jumped to his feet.

“We need water! Lots of cold water!”

“Why?”

“Touch the hatch!”

Several outstretched hands felt it simultaneously.

“Very hot,” said someone.

“Fortunately for us!”

“How’s that?”

“The hull, heated, has expanded, and the hatch, too. If we cool the hatch, it will contract, and we might be able to open it.”

“Water won’t do it. There might still be some ice — in the refrigeration units,” said the Captain.

One after another, they dropped into the corridor, which began to echo with their steps. The Captain remained in the chamber with the Engineer.

“It will open,” he said softly, as if to himself.

“If it hasn’t fused,” the Engineer murmured. He ran a finger along the rim to check its temperature.

“Ceramite starts melting over three thousand seven hundred degrees. You didn’t notice what the shield registered at the end?”

“At the end the dials were useless. When we threw on the brakes, it was over two and a half, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Two and a half thousand degrees is still not much.”

“Yes, but later on!”

The Chemist’s flushed face appeared over the edge of the platform. He had tied the flashlight around his neck. In its swaying light the pieces of ice in his bucket gleamed. He handed the bucket to the Captain.

“Just a minute. How are we supposed to —” The Engineer broke off. “I’ll be back.” And he disappeared into the darkness.

More steps could be heard. The Doctor arrived with two buckets of water, ice floating on the top. The Chemist held the light while the Doctor and the Physicist poured water on the hatch. The water flowed across the floor and into the corridor. After dousing the hatch for the tenth time, they heard a faint sound coming from it — a squeaking. They cheered. The Engineer appeared, wearing a reflector (from a suit) taped to his chest. Its glare made everything brighter. He threw an armful of plastic pieces taken from the control room onto the floor. The men began packing the hatch with chunks of ice, keeping them in place with the plastic, with air cushions, and with books that the Physicist kept bringing in. Finally, when their backs ached and little remained of the ice — the hot metal melted it very quickly — the Cyberneticist grabbed the wheel with both hands.

“Not yet!” shouted the Engineer. But the wheel turned with astonishing ease. Everyone jumped up. The wheel rotated more and more rapidly. The Engineer grabbed the center handle of the triple bolt securing the hatch and pulled. There was a sound like thick glass cracking, and the door fell inward, gradually at first, then suddenly striking those who stood closest. A black avalanche rushed in, covering them up to the knees. The Chemist was thrown; the hatch pinned him to the side wall but left him unharmed. The Captain, barely managing to jump free at the last moment, practically knocked the Doctor over. They all froze. The Doctor’s flashlight had been hit and went out; the only light came from the reflector on the Engineer’s chest.

“What is it?” asked the Cyberneticist in an unsteady voice. He stood behind the others, near the edge of the platform.

“A sample of planet Eden,” the Captain replied. He was helping to extricate the Chemist from behind the door that had been pushed open.

“Yes,” said the Engineer. “The whole hatchway is underground!”

“Then this must be the first landing beneath the surface of an unknown planet,” observed the Doctor.

Everyone began to laugh. The Cyberneticist laughed so hard, tears came to his eyes.

“Enough!” said the Captain. “We can’t carry on like this until morning. Get your tools, men, we have digging to do.”

The Chemist bent down and picked up a heavy, compact lump from the mound on the floor.

Earth protruded through the oval opening. Now and then blackish bits trickled down the surface of the heap as far as the corridor. The men withdrew to the corridor; there was no longer room enough on the platform. The Captain and the Engineer were the last to jump down.

“How deep are we, do you think?” the Captain asked the Engineer in a whisper. In the corridor, a patch of light moved far ahead of them. The Engineer had given the reflector to the Chemist.

“It depends on many things. Tagerssen penetrated two hundred and fifty feet.”

“Yes, but what remained of him and his ship!”

“Or take the Moon probe. They had to tunnel into rock to get it out. Into rock!”

“On the Moon you have pumice…”

“But who knows what we have here?”

“It looks like marl.”

“At the hatchway, yes — but beyond?”

The instruments were a problem. Like all long-range craft, the ship carried a duplicate set of robots and remote-controlled semiautomata for every sort of task, including ground-surface tasks under various planetary conditions. But the machines were dead, and without current there was no chance of repairing them. The only large-scale unit they had, an excavator powered by a micro-reactor, also required electricity to be started. So they would have to make do with primitive tools: shovels and pickaxes. This, too, presented problems. After several hours of toil, the crew went back and got three hoes, flattened and curved at the end, two steel poles, and large sheets of metal — to reinforce the walls of the tunnel. They carried the earth in buckets as well as in large plastic boxes supported litter-fashion by short aluminum tubing.

Approximately eighteen hours had passed since the crash, and the men were exhausted. The Doctor felt that they should have at least a few hours’ sleep. But first they needed to improvise beds of some sort, since the bunks in their sleeping quarters, bolted to the floor, were now vertical. It would have taken too much effort to detach them, so the men lugged air mattresses to the library (now almost half empty) and lay down side by side.

But, except for the Chemist and the Engineer, no one could sleep. So the Doctor got up again, took his flashlight, and went in search of sleeping pills. For almost an hour he cleared a path to the first-aid room through a hallway filled with broken equipment and instruments that had tumbled from the wall compartments. At last — his watch showed four in the morning, ship time — the pills were dispensed, the light was extinguished, and fitful breathing soon filled the dark room.

They awoke unexpectedly quickly — all except the Cyberneticist, who had taken too large a dose and was like one drunk. The Engineer complained of a sharp pain in the back of his neck. The Doctor discovered a swelling there: the Engineer had probably got a sprain when they were grappling with the hatch wheels.

Spirits were low. Even the Doctor was not talkative. The food supplies in the air lock were inaccessible now, buried beneath a heap of dirt, so once again the Physicist and the Chemist trudged off to the storeroom for cans of food. It was nine when work resumed on the tunnel.

They went at a snail’s pace. There was little room to move about in the oval opening. The men in front broke the packed earth with their hoes, and those behind them removed it to the corridor. Then it was decided to pile the earth in the navigation room, which was closer and contained nothing that might be needed in the immediate future.

Four hours later, the soil in the cabin was knee-high but the tunnel was only six feet long. Though the marl, compact, was not that hard, the poles and hoe blades kept getting stuck in it, and the iron handles bent as the men labored frantically. The steel hoe that the Captain used worked the best. The Engineer, afraid that the ceiling might cave in on them, took care that it was always well propped. By nightfall, when, smeared with clay, they sat down to supper, the tunnel, which led up from the hatch at a steep, almost seventy-degree angle, extended no more than twenty feet.

The Engineer looked into the shaft that led to the lower level, where the loading-bay hatch, steel-plated, lay a hundred feet astern of the main hatch, but all he could see was black water. The level was higher than on the previous day; one of the tanks must still be leaking. The water was contaminated, radioactive. He verified this with his small Geiger counter, closed the shaft, and returned to his comrades without mentioning his discovery.

“If all goes well, we’ll be out tomorrow. If not, it’ll take us two days,” the Cyberneticist declared, drinking his third mug of coffee from the thermos. They were all drinking coffee.

“How do you know?” the Engineer asked with surprise.

“Just a feeling.”

“He has the intuition his robots lack,” said the Doctor, laughing. As the day progressed, the Doctor was in increasingly good humor. When relieved of the digging, he would run back to the ship’s quarters, scavenging. He added two magneto lanterns, a portable shaver, vitamin-enriched chocolate, and a stack of towels to their supplies. The men were filthy, their suits were covered with stains. No one had shaved, of course, given the lack of electricity.

The whole of the following day was spent digging the tunnel. The navigation room was now so full, it became difficult to dump the soil through the door. Next they used the library. The Doctor had misgivings here, but the Chemist, with whom he was carrying the improvised handbarrow, tipped a heap of marl onto the books without hesitation.

The tunnel opened up unexpectedly. The soil had been getting drier and less compact for a while now, and though the Physicist had noted this, the others did not agree: the soil they carried into the ship seemed to them no different. The Engineer and the Captain, beginning their shift, had just taken up the tools still warm from previous hands, and were hacking at the irregular wall, when a section suddenly disappeared and air poured in through the opening. They could feel the draft: the pressure of the atmosphere outside was a little higher than in the tunnel or the rocket. The hoes and steel poles worked feverishly. No one any longer carried away the soil. The rest of the crew, unable to help those in front because there was no room, formed a tight group at the rear. After a few final blows, the Engineer was about to crawl outside, but the Captain stopped him. The Captain wanted to widen the exit first. He also gave orders for the last chunks of soil to be carried into the ship, so that nothing would obstruct the tunnel. Another ten or twenty minutes passed, therefore, before the six men crawled out onto the planet’s surface.