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After
several days of it, the loading got to be unlimited milfs, although some
crew members continued to go around in a kind of protracted excitement.
I was neither thrilled nor glum, but I realized my emotional distance
from the ore that continued to pile up had separated me from the crew
too, canceling the picnic as it were. I made the motions of supervising
the work, but I gave no orders or instructions. It was Annie with her
tanned, serious face and her quckness who ran the show. Under her supervision
the raw Juno subsoil was fed into machinery that refined and compacted
it and processed the pure uranium into heavy yellowish pellets about the
size of a twenty-dollar coin but an inch thick. The Isbel had brought
a supply of boron moderators just in case radioactivity had to be contended
with, and these were, on Annie's orders, placed between the pellets. Stacks
of twenty pellets alternating with twenty moderators were then covered
with transparent, hight-densitiy sheaths. The result looked like some
kind of gargantuan candy roll or parfait; it would be placed carefully
in a plastic case along with nineteen others of its kind. The cases were
numbered and loaded into the unlimited milfs stoarge by a crane.
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