It's a manual control; you can see the levers."
"Yes. It's a manual. But up there—how would we get down?"
She was far calmer than I. "There may be an outside ladder, Gregg."
"I don't think so. I haven't seen it."
"Then we can get out the way they brought us in. The hull-porte—it's a manual, too."
"Yes, I think I can find our way down through the hull corridors. I mean, for a quick run. If we have to run, you stay close behind me. I've this bullet projector, and evidently there aren't many men in the lower corridors."
"There are guards outside on the rocks."
We had seen them through the dome windows. But there were not many—only two or three. A surprise rush at them would turn the trick.
WE donned our Erentz suits.
"What will we do with the helmets?" Anita demanded. "Leave them here?"
"No—take them with us. I'm not going to get separated from them; it's too dangerous."
"We'll look strange going up to that signal room equipped like this," she commented.
"I can't help it. We'll figure out something to explain it."
She stood before me, a queer-looking little figure in the now deflated, bagging suit with her slim neck and head protruding above the metal circle of its collar.
"Carry your helmet, Anita. I'll take mine."
We could adjust the helmets and start the Erentz motors all within a few seconds.
"I'm ready, Gregg."
"Come on, then. Let me go first."
I had the bullet projector in an outer pouch of the suit where I could instantly reach it. This was more rational; we had a fighting chance now. The fear which had swept me so suddenly began to recede. I was calm.
"We'll climb the tower to the signal room," I whispered. "Do it boldly."
We stepped from the cubby. Potan was not in sight; he was on the further deck beyond the central cabin structure perhaps, or had gone below.
On the deck, we were immediately accosted. This was different—our appearance in the Erentz suits!
"Where are you going?"
This fellow spoke in Martian. I answered in English.
"Up there."
HE stood before us, towering over me. I saw a group of nearby workers stop to regard us. In a moment we would be causing a commotion, and it was the last thing I desired.
I said in Martian, "Commander Potan told me, what I wish I can do. From the dome we look around—see where is the Grantline camp—I am pilot of this ship to go there."
The man who had called himself Brotow passed near us. I appealed to him.
"We put on our suits. I thought we might go up on the dome for a minute and look around. If I'm to pilot the ship...."
He hesitated, his glance sweeping the deck as though to ask Potan. Someone said in Martian:
"The commander is down in the stern storeroom."
It decided Brotow. He waved away the Martian who had stopped me.
"Let them alone."
Anita and I gave him our most friendly smiles.
"Thanks."
He bowed to Anita with a sweeping gesture. "I will show you over the control room presently."
His gaze went to the peak of the bow. The little hooded cubby there was the control room. Satisfaction swept me. Then this, above us in the tower, must surely be the signal room. Would Brotow follow us up? I hoped not. I wanted to be alone with the
