It must have been an hour later that we felt it. A jarring whoomp beneath our keel. The upset-tummy-in-an-elevator sensation stopped. Bowman looked at me and said, "Larkin? He done somethin', maybe?" and we went back to the bridge.
Larkin had not caused the settling, but he was beaming triumphantly anyway. As we charged in, demanding information, he said, "Why, it's very simple. We have finally come to rest on the surface of Caltech."
"Sue me if I'm wrong," said the skipper, "but somehow I got the impression we landed on this overgrowed custard an hour an' a half ago? Or what's that I see out the ports? A bowl of taffy?"
"No, skipper. We didn't land on the surface before. We landed on a particular kind of matter which is, so far as I have been able to figure out, allied with the peculiar life-form inhabiting this planet."
"Life-form? You mean that stuff's alive?"
"Not exactly. That's the point I haven't been able to solve yet. I've made a careful analysis of the stuff. It seems to be a highly complex carbohydrate. Its formula is C6—"
"This ain't no time," I broke in, "to discuss mal-demer. What I want to know is, do we or don't we try my idea about putting out the Ampie? Johnny, maybe—"
"No!" he said.
"Well, why not? What have we got to lose?"
"No!" he said again. Oh, all right. I guess he was preoccupied and didn't mean to be curt. But his tone rekindled my anger, and I didn't feel any better when Lorraine said, "Please, Sparks, don't bother Johnny when he's trying to figure this out. Go ahead, sugar-plum."