HALF AROUND PLUTO
BY MANLY WADE WELLMAN
Pluto was a coffin world, airless,
utterly cold. And they had ten days to
reach Base Camp, ten thousand miles away.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, December 1958.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Their glassite space helmets fogged, and their metal glove jointsstiffened in the incredible surface cold: but the two men who couldwork finished their job. In the black sky glistened the little arclightof the sun, a sixteen-hundredth of the blaze that fell on Earth. Aroundthem sulked Pluto's crags and gullies, sheathed with the hard-frozenpallor that had been Pluto's atmosphere, eons ago.
From the wrecked cylinder of the scout rocket they had dragged twointerior girders, ready-curved at the ends. These, clamped side by sidewith transverse brackets and decked with bulkhead metal, managed tolook like a sled.
At the rear they set a salvaged engine unit. For steering, they riggeda boom shaft to warp the runners right or left. For cargo, they piledthe sled with full containers, ration boxes, the foil tent, whatinstruments they could detach and carry, armfuls of heat-tools, acrowbar, a hatchet, a few other items.
Moving back from the finished work, one of them stumbled against theother. Instantly the two puffy, soot-black shapes were crouched, glovedfists up, fierce in the system's duskiest corner.
Then the moment passed. Warily, helmets turned toward each other, theywent back in the half-stripped wreck.
In the still airtight control room, lighted by one bulb, their officerstirred on his bedstrip. His tunic had been pulled off, his broken leftarm and collarbone set and splinted. Under a fillet of bandage, hisgaunt young face looked pale, but he had his wits back.
"The appropriate question," he said, "is 'What happened?'"
The two men were removing their helmets. "Conked and crashed, sir,"said Jenks, the smaller one, uncovering a sallow, hollow-cheeked face.
Lieutenant Wofforth sat up, supporting himself on his sound arm. "Howlong have I been out?"
"Maybe forty hours, sir. Delirious. Corbett and me did the best wecould. Take it easy, sir," he said as Wofforth began to get up. "Lieback. We've done what Emergency Plan Six says—bolted a sled togetherand coupled on a sound engine unit for power."
"Quite a haul back to base," said Wofforth, almost cheerfully. Hiseyes were bright, as though he savored the idea. "About halfway aroundPluto. We'd better start now, or they'll get tired of waiting."
"They've gone, sir," Corbett growled before Jenks could gesture him tosilence. He was beefy, slit-eyed. "We saw the jets going sunward thismorning."
Wofforth winced. "Gone," he said. "That's right. I didn't stop tothink. You said forty hours.... They couldn't wait that long. We'repast opposition already, getting farther away all the time. They had togo, or they wouldn't have made it."
He stood up uncertainly and reached for his ripped tunic. Corbettstepped over and helped him slide his uninjured arm into the rightsleeve, then to fasten and drape the tunic over his splinted left armand shoulder.
"We'll just have to get back to Base Camp and wait," said Wof