"If you make one move toward the radio transmitter I'll blow your head off," the taller man said. He had black wavy hair that hung over his brow. The other man was completely bald.
"I don't even know if the radio works," Martin Devere answered. "I haven't turned it on in years. I should warn you, though, that if you shoot that thing inside the igloo here, it will puncture the plastic wall and let all the air out. I always keep the pressure up high indoors so I can boil water for coffee."
The tall man frowned in confusion and blinked at the weapon in his hand. Then he stared at the transparent dome above him, as if realizing for the first time that only a thin bubble of plastic separated him from near-vacuum, now that he had removed his suit.
"I was just making some coffee when you showed up," Martin Devere said, turning away. "Have some? I'm afraid it's instant. I've given up trying to get the Institute to send me a can of real coffee in the rocket. They think I need canned TV shows more."
"He's harmless," the bald man said. "You can see he's just an old senile nut. Leave him be, we've work to do."
The tall man lowered his weapon, then let it fall into the holster at his hip.
"No big hurry. I think I'd like some of that coffee first. Say, Pop, how about cooking us a meal in a couple of hours?"
Martin Devere was spooning brown powder into three cups.
"Sure thing. What would you like—beans and franks, or franks and beans?"