“Yeah,” said Roger, “a long time. I’ve been thinking about our chances of getting out of this mess.”
“Well,” asked Astro, “what has the great Manning brain figured out?”
“There’s no chance at all,” said Roger slowly. “You’re wrong, Corbett, about this being midday. It’s early morning!” He pointed to a chronometer on the bulkhead behind Astro. “It’s still running. I made a mental note before we splashed in, it was eight-O-seven. That clock says nine-O-three. It doesn’t begin to get hot here until three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“I think you’re wrong two ways,” said Tom. “In the first place, Captain Strong probably has a unit out looking for us right now. And in the second place, as long as we stay with the ship, we’ve got shade. That sun is only bad because the atmosphere is thinner here on Mars, and easier to burn through. But if we stay out of the sun, we’re OK. Just sit back and wait for Strong!”
Roger shrugged his shoulders.
“Well,” commented Astro with a grin, “I’m not going to sit around waiting for Strong without eating!” He tore open a plastic package of roast-beef sandwiches and began eating. Tom measured out three small cups of Martian water.
“After we eat,” suggested Roger, “I think we ought to take a look around outside and try to set up an identification signal.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Tom, “but don’t you think the ship itself is big enough for that?”
“Yeah,” answered Roger, “I guess you’re right.”
“Boy!” said Astro. “We sure are lucky to still be able to argue.”
“That’s about all you can call it. Luck! Spaceman’s luck!” said Tom. “The only reason I can figure why we didn’t wind up as permanent part of the scenery around here is because of the course we were on.”
“How do you figure that?” asked Astro.
“Luckily—and I mean luckily, we were on a course that took us smack onto the surface of Mars. And our speed was great enough to resist the gravity pull of the planet, keeping us horizontal with the surface of the desert. We skidded in like a kid does on a sled, instead of coming in on our nose!”
“Well, blast my jets!” said Astro softly.
“In that case,” said Roger, “we must have left a pretty long skid mark in back of us!”
“That should be easy to see when the jet scouts come looking for us,” commented Astro.
“I wonder if we could rig up some sort of emergency signal so we could send out a relative position?”
“How are you going to get the position?” asked Astro.
“I can give you some sort of position as soon as I get outside and take a sight on the sun,” replied Roger.
“Can you do it without your astrogation prism?” asked Astro.
“Navigation, not astrogation, Astro,” said Roger. “Like the ancient sailors used on the oceans back on Earth hundreds of years ago. Only thing is, I’ll have to work up the logarithms by hand, instead of using the computer. Might be a little rough, but it’ll be close enough for what we want.”
The three cadets finished the remaining sandwiches and then picked their way back through the ship to the control deck. There, they rummaged through the pile of broken and shattered instruments.
“If we could find just one tube that hasn’t been damaged, I think I might be able to rig up some sort of one-lung communications set,” said Roger. “It might have enough range to get a message to the nearest atmosphere booster station.”
“Nothing but a pile of junk here, Roger,” said Tom. “We might find something on the radar deck.”
The three members of the Polaris unit climbed over the rubble and made their way to the radar deck, and started their search for an undamaged tube. After forty-five minutes of searching, Roger stood up in disgust.
“Nothing!” he said sourly.
“That kills any hope of getting a message out,” said Tom.
“By the craters of Luna,” said Astro, wiping his forehead. “I didn’t notice it before, but it’s getting hotter here than on the power deck on a trip to Mercury!”
“Do we have any flares?” asked Roger.
“Naw. Al James used them all,” answered Tom.
“That does it,” said Roger. “In another couple of hours, when and if anyone shows up, all they’ll find is three space cadets fried on the half shell of a spaceship!”
“Listen, Roger,” said Tom, “as soon as we fail to check in, the whole Mars Solar Guard fleet will be out looking for us. Our last report will show them we were heading in this direction. It won’t take Captain Strong long to figure out that we might have run out of fuel, and, with that skid mark in the sand trailing back for twenty miles, all we have to do is stick with the ship and wait for them to show up!”
“What’s that?” asked Astro sharply.
From a distance, the three cadets could hear a low moaning and wailing. They rushed to the crystal port and looked out on the endless miles of brown sand, stretching as far as the horizon and meeting the cloudless blue sky. Shimmering in the heat, the New Sahara desert of Mars was just beginning to warm up for the day under the bleaching sun. The thin atmosphere offered little protection against the blazing heat rays.
“Nothing but sand,” said Tom. “Maybe something is still hot on the power deck.” He looked at Astro.
“I checked it before I came topside,” said Astro. “I’ve heard that noise before. It can only mean one thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Roger.
Astro turned quickly and walked to the opposite side of the littered control deck. He pushed a pile of junk out of the way for a clear view of the outside.
“There’s your answer,” said Astro, pointing at the port.
“By the rings of Saturn, look at that!” cried Tom.
“Yeah,” said Roger, “black as the fingernails of
