"No, I'm afraid not," Devere said. "There was only that one bottle."
"Too bad. We should have a little celebration." The bald man began sealing himself into his spacesuit.
"I'll wait for you here," his partner said. "I'd better start burning those plans."
Martin Devere looked up from the fragment of ceramic he was cleaning.
"You're going to send the message now?"
Neither of the men bothered to reply, since the answer was self-evident. The bald man tested the air and power equipment of his suit, then turned to his partner a moment before sealing his helmet.
"You checked the sandcat's power supply?"
"Yes, but you'd better take another look at it. I think the battery's leaking."
The bald man nodded and went out the airlock. Martin Devere watched in silence as the other man began to gather up his diagrams and plans and tie them into a neat bundle.
"I guess we can take it easy now, Pop. As soon as that telegram's sent and I get this stuff burned, my partner and I are unemployed. Of course we'll have to hang around a while longer in case they want us to shoot off Baby out there, but there's nothing to that. In the meantime maybe I can help you dig up some more of those old pots and statues."