“Not any place in the same county — or the next county. How would you like to be in a city when one of those things goes off?”
Ross shook his head. “I want to zig when it zags. Art, they better never have to drop another one, except in practice. If they ever start lobbing those things around, it `ud be the end of civilization.”
“They won’t,” Art assured him. “What d’you think the UN police is for? Wars are out. Everybody knows that.”
“You know it and I know it. But I wonder if everybody knows it ?”
“It’ll be just too bad if they don’t.”
“Yeah — too bad for us.”
Art climbed out of the car. “I wonder if we can get down to it?
“Well, don’t try. We’ll find out later.”
“There can’t be any duds in the crater or anywhere in the area — not after that.”
“Don’t forget our friend that the buzzards ate. Duds that weren’t exposed to the direct blast might not go off. This bomb was set off about five miles up.”
“Huh? I thought-”
“You were thinking about the test down in Chihuahua. That was a ground job. Come on. We got work to do.” He trod on the starter.
The cabin was pre-fab, moved in after the atom bomb test to house the radioactivity observers. It had not been used since and looked it.
“Whew! What a mess,” Art remarked. “We should have brought a tent.”
“It’ll be all right when we get it fixed up. Did you see kerosene in that stuff outside?”
“Two drums of it.”
“Okay. I’ll see if I can make this stove work. I could use some lunch.” The cabin was suitable, although dirty. It had drilled well; the water was good, although it had a strange taste. There were six rough bunks needing only bedding rolls. The kitchen was the end of the room, the dining room a large pine table, but there were shelves, hooks on the walls, windows, a tight roof overhead. The stove worked well, even though it was smelly; Ross produced scrambled eggs, coffee, bread and butter, German-fried potatoes, and a bakery apple pie with only minor burns and mishaps.
It took all day to clean the cabin, unload the car, and uncrate what they needed at once. By the time they finished supper, prepared this time by Art, they were glad to crawl into their sacks. Ross was snoring gently before Art closed his eyes. Between Ross’s snores and the mournful howls of distant coyotes Art was considering putting plugs in his ears, when the morning sun woke him up.
“Get up, Ross!”
“Huh? What? Wassamatter?”
“Show a leg. We’re burning daylight.”
“I’m tired,” Ross answered as he snuggled back into the bedding. “I think I’ll have breakfast in bed.”
“You and your six brothers. Up you come — today we pour the foundation for the shop.”
“That’s right.” Ross crawled regretfully out of bed. “Wonderful weather — I think I’ll take a sun bath.”
“I think you’ll get breakfast, while I mark out the job.”
“Okay, Simon Legree.”
The machine shop was a sheet metal and stringer affair, to be assembled. They mixed the cement with the sandy soil of the desert, which gave them a concrete good enough for a temporary building. It was necessary to uncrate the power tools and measure them before the fastening bolts could be imbedded in the concrete. Ross watched as Art placed the last bolt. “You sure we got `em all?”
“Sure. Grinder, mill, lathe-” He ticked them off. “Drill press, both saws-”
They had the basic tools needed for almost any work. Then they placed bolts for the structure itself, matching the holes in the metal sills to the bolts as they set them in the wet concrete. By nightfall they had sections of the building laid out, each opposite its place, ready for assembly. “Do you think the power line will carry the load?” Art said anxiously, as they knocked off.
Ross shrugged. “We won’t be running all the tools at once. Quit worrying, or we’ll never get to the moon. We’ve got to wash dishes before we can get supper.”