"Then you've got to freeze," said Salvation Smith, "and like it. Until we can escape from these creatures. Do you have any idea how cold it is here on Titania, my boy?"
Chip said, "Why, plenty cold, I suppose—"
"About minus 380° Fahrenheit!" said Smith. "That's all. Uranians and Titanians may look like Earthmen, lad, but they're built entirely different. They are not children of the Sun, as we are. Their bodies are so constituted as to be able to stand extremes of frigidity that would quick-freeze us like salmon. Sluggish basal metabolism, dermal, rather than pneumonic respiration—these enable them to endure what to us appear the impossible living conditions of a world on which mercury and gallium are adamant solids, liquid hydrogen forms seas, and the snow is carbon dioxide.
"When you turned on the heating unit of your bulger you subjected that native's hand to what was to him a burning, unendurable heat!"
Chip nodded.
"I see. That makes sense. But—but there must be some warmth around here? A cleared patch—"
"I haven't yet decided whether this patch was cleared by heat or labor," said Salvation. "If we can make them believe we are friends, I may learn. I can sling their talk a little. It's not unlike the Uranian language. But—"
He stopped, and his voice rose to a shout. "Behold! Thou hast delivered mine enemy into mine hands, O Lord; Thou hast brought the wicked even unto judgment!"
And Chip, following his gaze, saw a second party of Titanians approaching the central gathering place from the opposite direction. These natives held captive, even as he and Salvation and Syd were held, an ill-assorted foursome in spacemen's bulgers. A giant Venusian, a greenie, a dwarfed Jovian and an Earthman!
"Amborg!" yelled Chip. "Blaze Amborg and his crew! They got away on that life-skiff, but they were caught when they landed! Padre—"