"Some of that lichen, or whatever it is, was around the scene of the crash," Morley answered. "The stuff must have an affinity for tin; probably secretes some acid that dissolves it. Only trouble is, it goes through thin steel too."
Madsen commenced repacking their effects.
"From now on, laddie, keep your eyes peeled for game, and if you see any, use that rifle. If we don't knock down some meat, and soon, we aren't going to make it. Might as well realize it right now."
"Were you ever wrecked before, Madsen?"
"Once, on Venus. Cartographic expedition."
"What happened?"
"Tubes blew and we made a forced landing. Wound up sitting in the middle of a pile of highgrade scrap."
"What did you do then?"
Madsen shouldered his knapsack and smiled condescendingly.
"Not a thing, Mr. Fix-it. We didn't have to. Since I seem to have accidentally stumbled on something new and strange to you, add this to your files. It's usual on cartographic trips of any length, for one ship to go out, while another stays at a temporary base, and keeps in constant directional radio contact. If anything happens, they come a-running. Makes it fine for us uninformed common people."