“Wait a minute, fellas. Let’s get this straight,” said Tom. “We’re all agreed that the odds on Captain Strong’s showing up here before our water runs out are too great to risk it, and that we’ll try to reach the nearest canal. The most important thing in this place is water. If we stay and the water we have runs out, we’re done for. If we go, we might not reach the canal—and the chance of being spotted in the desert is even smaller than if we wait here at the ship.” He paused. “So we move on?” He looked at the others. Astro nodded and looked at Roger, who bobbed his head in agreement.
“OK, then,” said Tom, “it’s settled. We’ll move at night when it’s cool, and try to rest during the day when it’s the hottest.”
Roger looked up at the blazing white sphere in the pale-blue sky that burned down relentlessly. “I figure we have about six hours before she drops for the day,” he said.
“Then let’s go back inside the ship and get some rest,” he said.
Without another word, the three cadets climbed back inside the ship and made places for themselves amid the littered deck of the control room. A hot wind blew out of the New Sahara through the open port like a breath of fire. Stripped to their shorts, the three boys lay around the deck unable to sleep, each thinking quietly about the task ahead, each remembering stories of the early pioneers who first reached Mars. In the mad rush for the uranium-yielding pitchblende, they had swarmed over the deserts toward the dwarf mountains by the thousands. Greedy, thinking only of the fortunes that could be torn from the rugged little mountains, they had come unprepared for the heat of the Martian deserts and nine out of ten had never returned.
Each boy thought, too, of the dangers they had just faced. This new danger was different. This was something that couldn’t be defeated with an idea or a sudden lucky break. This danger was ever present—a fight against nature, man against the elements on an alien planet. It was a battle of endurance that would wring the last drop of moisture mercilessly from the body, until it became a dry, brittle husk.
“Getting pretty close to sundown,” said Tom finally. He stood beside the open port and shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun, now slowly sinking below the Martian horizon.
“I guess we’d better get going,” said Roger. “All set, Astro?”
“Ready, Roger,” answered the Venusian.
The three boys dressed and arranged the food packs on their backs. Tom carried the remainder of the Martian water, two quart plastic containers, and a six-yard square of space cloth, an extremely durable flyweight fabric that would serve as protection from the sun during the rest stop of the day. Roger and Astro carried the food in compact packs on their backs. Each boy wore a makeshift hat of space cloth, along with space goggles, a clear sheet of colored plastic that fitted snugly across the face. All three carried emergency lights salvaged from the wrecked ship.
Tom walked out away from the ship several hundred yards and studied his pocket compass. He held it steady for a moment, watching the needle swing around. He turned and walked slowly still watching the needle of the compass. He waited for it to steady again, then turned back to Roger and Astro who stood watching from the window port.
“This is the way.” Tom pointed away from the ship. “Three degrees south of east, one hundred and fifty-four miles away, if everything is correct, should bring us smack on top of a major canal.”
“So long, Lady Venus,” said Astro, as he left the ship.
“Don’t think it hasn’t been fun,” added Roger, “because it hasn’t!”
Astro fell in behind Roger, who in turn followed Tom who walked some ten feet ahead. A light breeze sprang up and blew across the surface of the powdery sand. Ten minutes later, when they stopped to adjust their shoulder packs, they looked back. The breeze had obliterated their tracks and the mountain of sand covering the spaceship appeared to be no different from any of the other small dunes on the desert. The New Sahara desert of Mars had claimed another Earth-ship victim.
“If we can’t see the Lady Venus standing still, and knowing where to look,” said Astro, “how could a man in a rocket scout ever find it?”
“He wouldn’t,” said Roger flatly. “And when the water ran out, we’d just be sitting there.”
“We’re losing time,” said Tom. “Let’s move.” He lengthened his stride through the soft sand that sucked at his high space boots and faced the already dimming horizon. The light breeze felt good on his face.
The three cadets had no fear of running into anything in their march through the darkness across the shifting sands. And only an occasional flash of the emergency light to check the compass was necessary to keep them moving in the right direction.
There wasn’t much talk. There wasn’t much to talk about. About nine o’clock the boys stopped and opened one of the containers of food and ate a quick meal of sandwiches. This was followed by a carefully measured ounce of water, and fifteen minutes later they resumed their march across the New Sahara.
About ten o’clock, Deimos, one of the small twin moons of Mars, swung up overhead, washing the desert with a pale cold light. By morning, when the cherry-red sun broke the line of the horizon, Tom estimated that they had walked about twenty miles.
“Think we ought to camp here?” asked Astro.
“If you can show me a better spot,” said Roger with a laugh, “I’ll be happy to use it!” He swung his arm in a wide circle, indicating a wasteland of sand that spread as far as
