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- Исаак Азимов
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"
I
do
n't
know
.
"
Powell
's
voice
was
an
intense
whisper
,
"
Where
do
the
lights
come
from
?
Where
does
anything
come
from
?
"
"
Well
,
how
are
we
going
to
answer
?
"
They
had
to
speak
in
the
intervals
between
the
loudly
echoing
,
repeating
message
.
The
walls
were
bare
--
as
bare
and
as
unbroken
as
smooth
,
curving
metal
can
be
.
Powell
said
,
"
Shout
an
answer
.
"
They
did
.
They
shouted
,
in
turns
,
and
together
,
"
Position
unknown
!
Ship
out
of
control
!
Condition
desperate
!
"
Their
voices
rose
and
cracked
.
The
short
businesslike
sentences
became
interlarded
and
adulterated
with
screaming
and
emphatic
profanity
,
but
the
cold
,
calling
voice
repeated
and
repeated
and
repeated
unwearyingly
.
"
They
do
n't
hear
us
,
"
gasped
Donovan
.
"
There
's
no
sending
mechanism
.
Just
a
receiver
.
"
His
eyes
focused
blindly
at
a
random
spot
on
the
wall
.
Slowly
the
din
of
the
outside
voice
softened
and
receded
.
They
called
again
when
it
was
a
whisper
,
and
they
called
again
,
hoarsely
,
when
there
was
silence
.
Something
like
fifteen
minutes
later
,
Powell
said
lifelessly
,
"
Let
's
go
through
the
ship
again
.
There
must
be
something
to
eat
somewheres
.
"
He
did
not
sound
hopeful
.
It
was
almost
an
admission
of
defeat
.
They
divided
in
the
corridor
to
the
right
and
left
.
They
could
follow
one
another
by
the
hard
footsteps
resounding
,
and
they
met
occasionally
in
the
corridor
,
where
they
would
glare
at
each
other
and
pass
on
.
Powell
's
search
ended
suddenly
and
as
it
did
,
he
heard
Donovan
's
glad
voice
rise
boomingly
.
