THE COSMIC COMPUTER

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they'd armor it against anything.

"Bring the gang in; it's safe as far as we've gotten," his father said.
"We'll just have to string wires out."

Conn used his flashlight and found the power unit for the room lights;
all the overhead lights were wired to one unit, if wired were the word
for gold-leaf circuits cemented to the walls and covered with insulating
paint. For the heavy stuff, like the ventilator fans, they'd have to
find the central power plant. He looked around the big room, poking into
some of the closets that lined it. Radiation-proof clothing. Tools. Arms
and ammunition. First-aid kits. Emergency rations. All the vehicles were
plated in shimmering collapsium.

The crowd started coming in: the work-gangs selected for the first
exploration work, most of them old hands of Rodney Maxwell's; the
engineers they had recruited; Mohammed Matsui?he had a gang of his own,