outside, the sled lay ready under the frigid sky. wofforth tramped around it, leaned over and poked the load.
"too much," said his voice in their radios. "keep the synthesizer, the tent, these two ration boxes. wait, keep the crowbar and the hatchet. dump the rest."
"we travel that light, sir?" said jenks doubtfully.
"i've been figuring," said wofforth. "we're on the far side of pluto from base camp. that makes ten thousand miles, more or less. pluto's day is nineteen hours and a minute or so, earth time. we can travel only by what they humorously call daylight. and we'd better get there in ten days—a thousand miles every nine and a half hours—or maybe we won't get there at all."
"how's that, sir?" asked corbett.
"the heaters in these suits," wofforth reminded him. "two hundred and forty hours of efficiency, and that's all. well, it's noon. let's take off."
his voice shook. he was still weak. jenks helped him sit on the two lashed ration boxes, and slung a mooring strap across his knees. then jenks took the steering boom, and corbett bent to start the engine.
when the arclight sun set in the west, they had traveled more than four hours over country not too rugged to slow them much. darkness closed in fast while jenks and corbett pitched the pyramidal tent of metal foil and clamped it down solidly. they spread and zipped in the ground fabric, set up lights and heater inside, and began to pipe in thawed gases from the drifts outside.
after their scanty meal, corbett and jenks sought their bedstrips, on opposite sides of the tent. wofforth tended the atomic heater for minutes, until the sound of deep breathing told him that his companions were asleep.
then he put on his spacesuit, clumsy with his single hand to close seams. he picked up sextant and telescope, and slipped out into the plutonian night.
it was as utterly black as the bottom of a pond of ink. but above wofforth shone the faithful stars, in the constellations mapped by the first star-gazers of long ago. he made observations, checked for time and position. he chuckled inside his helmet, as though congratulating himself. back in the tent, he opened the log book and wrote:
first day: course due west. run 410 mi. to go 9590 mi. approx. supplies adeq. spirits good.
wriggling out of his space gear, he lay down, asleep almost before his weary limbs relaxed.
