“They blitzed us,” Cargraves said savagely. “They bombed us out. If we had been aboard they would have killed us. That’s what they meant to do.”
“But why?”
“No possible reason. They didn’t want us here.” He refrained from saying what he felt to be true: that their unknown enemy had failed only temporarily in his intent to kill. A quick death by high explosive would probably be a blessing compared with what he felt was in store for them marooned . . . on a dead and airless planet.
How long would they last? A month? Two months? Better by far if the bomb had hit them.
Morrie turned suddenly back toward the lock. “What are you doing, Morrie?”
“Going to get the guns!”
“Guns are no good to us.”
But Morrie had not heard him. His antenna was already shielded by the metal drum.
Ross said, “I’m not sure that guns are no good, Doc.”
“Huh? How do you figure?”
“Well, what are they going to do next? Won’t they want to see what they’ve done? They didn’t even see the bomb hit; they were jetting away.”
“If they land we’ll hijack their ship!”
Art came up closer. “Huh? Hey, Ross, that’s tellin’ `em! We’ll get them! We’ll show them! Murderers!” His words tumbled over one another, squeaking and squawking in their radios.
“We’ll try!” Cargraves decided suddenly. “We’ll try. If they land we won’t go down without a fight. We can’t be any worse off than we are.” He was suddenly unworried; the prospect of a gunfight, something new to his experience, did not upset him further. It cheered him. “Where do you think we ought to hide, Ross? In the Galileo?”
“If we have to — There they come!” The rocket had suddenly appeared over the far rim.
“Where’s Morrie?”
“Here.” He came up from behind them, burdened with the two rifles and the revolver. “Here, Ross, you take . . . hey!” He had caught sight of the strangers’ rocket. “We’ve got to hurry,” he said.
But the rocket did not land. It came down low, dipping below the level of the crater’s rim, then scooted on its tail across near the wreckage of the Galileo, up, out, and away.
“And we didn’t even get a crack at them,” Morrie said bitterly.
“Not yet,” Ross answered, “but I think they’ll be back. This was a second bombing run, sure as anything, in case they missed the first time. They’ll still come back to see what they’ve done. How about it, Doc?”
“I think they will,” Cargraves decided. “They will want to look over our ship and to kill us off if they missed any of us. But we don’t go to the Galileo.”
“Why not?”
“We haven’t time. They will probably turn as fast as they can check themselves, come back and land. We might be caught out in the open.”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take.”
It was decided for them. The rocket appeared again from the direction it had gone. This time it was plainly a landing trajectory. “Come on!” shouted Cargraves, and went careening madly down the slope.
The rocket landed about halfway between the Galileo and the shadows, now close to the foot of the hills, for the sun had climbed four ‘days’ higher in the sky. The ship was noticeably smaller than the Galileo even at that distance.
Cargraves did not notice such details. His immediate intent was to reach the door of the craft before it opened, to be ready to grapple with them as they came out.
But his good sense came to his aid before he was out in the sunlight. He realized he had no gun. Morrie had kept one, Ross had the other, and Art was waving the revolver around. He paused just short of the dazzling, sunlighted area. “Hold it,” he ordered. “I don’t think they have seen us. I don’t think they will — yet.”
“What are your plans?” Morrie demanded.
“Wait for them to get out, then rush the ship — after they get well away from it. Wait for my signal.”
“Can’t they hear us?”
“Maybe. If they are on this frequency, we’re goners. Switch off your talkies, everybody.” He did so himself; the sudden silence was chilling.