"Thanks, Williams. I don't know how—"
"I am simply performing my duty," the robot said as it climbed into the vortex. "If you are still on Venus in six months, I will be delivering your mail to the penitentiary."
"I won't be here," Morrison said. "So long, Williams!"
The robot disappeared into the 'porting vortex. Then the vortex disappeared. Morrison was alone in the Venusian twilight.
He found an outcropping of goldenstone larger than a man's head. He chipped at it with his pistol butt, and tiny particles danced and shimmered in the air. After an hour, he had put four dents in his revolver, but he had barely scratched the highly refractory surface of the goldenstone.
The sandwolves began to edge forward. Morrison threw stones at them and shouted in his dry, cracked voice. The wolves retreated.
He examined the outcropping again and found a hairline fault running along one edge. He concentrated his blows along the fault.
The goldenstone refused to crack.
Morrison wiped sweat from his eyes and tried to think. A chisel, he needed a chisel....