He tried to close his
ears to the mutter of meaningless words coming from across the narrow
cabin. Raf had known from the moment his name had been drawn as crew
member that the whole trip would be a gamble, a wild gamble with the
odds all against them. _RS 10_--those very numbers on the nose of the
ship told part of the story. Ten exploring fingers thrust in turn out
into the blackness of space. _RS 3_'s fate was known--she had
blossomed into a pinpoint of flame within the orbit of Mars. And _RS
7_ had clearly gone out of control while instruments on Terra could
still pick up her broadcasts. Of the rest--well, none had returned.
But the ships were built, manned by lot from the trainees, and sent
out, one every five years, with all that had been learned from the
previous job, each refinement the engineers could discover
incorporated into the latest to rise from the launching cradle.
_RS 10_--Raf closed his eyes with weary distaste. After months of
being trapped inside her ever-vibrating shell, he felt that he knew
each and every rivet, seam, and plate in her only too well. And there
was no reason yet to believe that the voyage would ever end.
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