They descended ladder-walks into the fore-waist; crew compartment. Functional, compact, reflecting the same efficient engineering which they had encountered in the previous compartment.
Through a second bulkhead opening; supply compartment. Through another; cargo hold. It was not empty, and loading gear was in evidence, although neatly stowed in its locks.
"Mneurium-4," Carruthers said. The words made a hollow sound in the emptiness behind them.
They kept going. Armory. All units still in place. Engine room. Dobermann's counter ticked slowly in the stillness. Still a little kick left in the piles. Machine-shop; lab. Spotless, perfect order. Finally, tubes. The smooth metal gleamed in the light of Carruthers' lamp.
And that was all.
Joel turned wordlessly and started back up the ladder-walks. Dobermann and Carruthers clanged hollowly after him, scrambling to keep up.
Joel didn't stop until he had climbed back into one of the buckets, and then he waved impatiently. Machinery whined above him, and his bucket swung clear.
At the lip, he motioned for Southard.
"All right, I want ten of your people with technical research rates. Leave them with Dobermann and Carruthers. Issue return orders to your T-M, and then get these units out of here and digging up what we came after."
"But—yes sir."