"Damn Deirdre," Arnsen said—but not aloud.
The ship went on, following the blind course O'Brien pointed. Hastings shook his head in grim silence, and trained his passengers in the use of the space-suits. Few of the asteroids had atmosphere, and it became increasingly evident that the destination was an asteroid....
CHAPTER THREE
The Singing Crystals
They found it at last, a jagged, slowly revolving ball that looked incredibly desolate, slag from some solar furnace. The telescope showed no life. The ball had hardened as it whirled, and the molten rock had frozen instantly, in frigid space, into spiky, giant crags and stalagmites. No atmosphere, no water, no sign of life in any form.
The crystal O'Brien held had changed. A pale light streamed from it. O'Brien's face was tensely eager.
"This is it. Set the ship down, Hastings."
The pilot made a grimace, but bent toward the controls. It was a ticklish task at best, for he had to match the ship's speed to the speed of the asteroid's revolution and circle in, describing a narrowing spiral. Rocket ships are not built for maneuverability. They blast their way to ground and up again through sheer roaring power.
She settled bumpily on the iron-hard surface of the asteroid, and Arnsen looked through the thick visiglass at desolation that struck a chill to his heart. Life had never existed here. It was a world damned in the making, a tiny planetoid forever condemned to unbearable night and silence. It was one with the darkness. The sun-glare, in the absence of atmosphere, made sharp contrasts between light and jet shadow. The fingers of rock reached up hungrily, as though searching for warmth. There was nothing menacing about the picture. It was horrible in its lifelessness; that was all.