Slowly, stiff with cold, Richards walked back to the crawler. His boots crunched on pebbles. The metal rung of the ladder felt burning cold even through his heavy gloves. 305
He clambered up and pushed through the hatch, into the rear compartment of the mammoth vehicle.
Warmth. Glorious soaking thawing warmth. He pulled off the gloves and pushed down his hood and reveled in its glow. It took half an hour and several cups of coffee before Richards began to feel human again. He sat alone in the driver's cab, parka off, boots planted directly in front of the heater outlet. He finished his radio check with McMurdo and settled back in the big padded driver's seat. He could watch the geologists from here.
Suddenly they all gathered together in a tight knot. Richards sat up straight and watched through the bulging bug-eyed windshield of the crawler. They were pointing at something and talking animatedly about it- Heatedly. Arms waving and gesticulating. One of them pointed to the crawler and then off to the sawtoothed horizon. He detached himself and sprinted for the crawler.
Puzzled, Richards pulled himself out of the seat and ducked through the hatch into the rear compartment, where the bunks and galley and worktables were. The outside hatch opened, letting in a slug of frigid air. The man was the same sailor who had spoken to Richards before. Pushing his goggles up to reveal bloodshot wide eyes, he said excitedly, "Sir, they've found a marker out there! Made of metal. Russian writing on it."
"Russian?"
"Yessir. Dr. Carlati says it looks like the Russians have been here already and staked a claim to this valley."
Richards frowned. "Stop talking like a Western movie, Bates. This is international territory. Nobody's allowed to claim any damned thing."
The sailor shrugged. Richards reached for his parka and hauled it on. Zippering it up he muttered, "Come on, let's see this. Do any of the scientists read Russian?"
"Dr. Carlati does, sir."
As he climbed down from the hatch and set foot on the rocky ground again, Richards heard the sailor call out from above him, "Hey, look there, sir! Another crawler coming up the valley."
Richards saw it. A dark speck edging along the gray 306 rocks. He looked up the ladder at the sailor, who was still standing at the hatch. "Get one of the carbines and load it. Bring it with you."
"Should I radio McMurdo, sir?"
Caught for a moment between two priorities, Richards shook his head. "No. Get the carbine. We'll fill in McMurdo after we've talked to the Reds."
By the time Richards and the sailor got to the group of scientists the Soviet crawler was close enough to make out its red star insignia.
"The richest deposit of coal I've ever seen," one of the geologists was saying. "This must be what the Montana beds were like before the Sixties."
"Yes," said another parka-muffled man. "But apparently they were here first."
"There's plenty here for everybody."
Naive fool, Richards thought.
The Soviet crawler was advancing on them, looming bigger and more menacing with every clank of its treads. Richards stood watching it, no longer aware of the cold or the wind. The scientists seemed tense, too.
