"What's the matter?" His partner put down some drawings and came over.
"The modulator circuit doesn't check out. I'll have to take the whole works apart and start over again." The bald man spoke—when he did speak—with a faint accent that Martin Devere could not identify.
"It doesn't matter." The other rubbed at his chin. "We're still ahead of our schedule."
"Hey. Old man." The bald man pointed at Devere. "You have anything to drink in this cave of yours?"
Martin Devere frowned, thinking. He remembered a bottle he'd been saving for some special occasion—he couldn't recall what, just now.
"I think I have some bourbon," he said at last. "If I can find it."
"Find it. Mine straight, on the rocks."
When Martin Devere returned awhile later, the bald man was still wearing his helmetless space suit. He and his friend were studying a complex wiring diagram spread out on the work bench.
Martin Devere put two plastic cups down on the bench and poured them full. Neither of the men looked up from their diagram until he had set the bottle down.
"Pour one for yourself, Pop," the tall man said.