their glassite space helmets fogged, and their metal glove joints stiffened in the incredible surface cold: but the two men who could work finished their job. in the black sky glistened the little arclight of the sun, a sixteen-hundredth of the blaze that fell on earth. around them sulked pluto's crags and gullies, sheathed with the hard-frozen pallor that had been pluto's atmosphere, eons ago.

from the wrecked cylinder of the scout rocket they had dragged two interior girders, ready-curved at the ends. these, clamped side by side with transverse brackets and decked with bulkhead metal, managed to look like a sled.