He was sprawled face down and dressed in a space suit. Although he did not move Cargraves approached him very cautiously.
The man was either dead or unconscious. However, he did not have the grimace of death on his face and his suit was still under pressure. Wondering what to do, Cargraves knelt over him. There was a pistol in his belt; Cargraves took it and stuck it in his own.
He could feel no heart beat through the heavy suit and his own gauntlet, nor could he listen for it, while wearing a helmet himself.
His watch showed five minutes of the agreed time left; whatever he did must be done fast. He grappled the limp form by the belt and dragged it along.
“What have you got there?” Ross demanded.
“Souvenir. Let’s get going. No time.” He saved his breath for the climb. The sixty-pound weight that he and his burden made, taken together, flew up the stairs six at a time. At the top his watch still showed two minutes to go. “Leg it out to the jeep,” he commanded Ross. “I can’t take this item there, or Morrie may decide it’s a trap. Meet me in the Wotan. Get going!” Heaving his light burden over one shoulder, he set out for the big ship at a gallop.
Once inside he put his load down and took the man out of his space suit. The body was warm but seemed dead. However, he found he could detect a faint heart-beat. He was starting an artificial respiration when the boys piled out of the lock.
“Hi,” he said, “who wants to relieve me here? I don’t know much about it.”
“Why bother?” asked Morrie.
Cargraves paused momentarily and looked at him quizzically. “Well, aside from the customary reasons you have been brought up to believe in, he might be more use to us alive than dead.”
Morrie shrugged. “Okay. I’ll take over.” He dropped to his knees, took Cargraves’ place, and started working.
“Did you bring them up to date?,” Cargraves asked Ross.
“I gave them a quick sketch. Told them the place seemed to be ours and I told them what we found — the ruins.”
“Not very ruined,” Cargraves remarked.
“Look, Uncle,” demanded Art. “Can I go down there? I’ve got to get some pictures.”
“Pictures can wait,” Cargraves pointed out. “Right now we’ve got to find out how this ship works. As soon as we get the hang of it, we head back. That comes first.”
“Well, sure,” Art conceded, “but . . . after all — I mean. No pictures at all?”
“Well . . . Let’s put it this way. It may take Ross and Morrie and me, not to mention yourself, quite some time to figure out how they handle this craft. There might be twenty minutes when we could spare you. In the meantime, table the motion. Come on, Ross. By the way, what did you do with the prisoner?”
“Oh, him,” Morrie answered, “we tied him up and left him.”
“Huh? Suppose he gets loose? He might steal the rocket.”
“He won’t get loose. I tied him myself and I took a personal interest in it. Anyhow he won’t try to get away — no space suit, no food. That baby knows his chance of living to a ripe old age depends on us and he doesn’t want to spoil it.”
“That’s right, Uncle,” Art agreed. “You should have heard what he promised me.”
“Good enough, I guess,” Cargraves conceded. “Come on, Ross.” Morrie went on with his job, with Art to spell him.
Cargraves returned, with Ross, to the central compartment a few minutes later. “Isn’t that pile of meat showing signs of life yet?,” he asked.
“No. Shall I stop?”
“I’ll relieve you. Sometimes they come to after an hour or more. Two of you go over to the jeep with an additional space suit and bring back Sergeant What’s-his-name. Ross and I are as much in the dark as ever,” he explained. “The sergeant bloke is a pilot. We’ll sweat it out of him.”
He had no more than gotten firmly to work when the man under him groaned. Morrie turned back at the lock. “Go ahead,” Cargraves confirmed. “Ross and I can handle this guy.”