“Nice work, Rod,” the figure called, “I see you answer your mail.”
“Bill Williamson!” Rod grinned his relief. “Oblige me, pal, by not writing any more notes.”
Williamson was beside him. He slipped a fresh cannister of air into place on Rod’s space suit and supported him while they clambered further up the mountain-side.
“That oxygen trick!” he exulted. “That’s a nice wrinkle! They sounded like popcorn going off.”
Williamson led him to a cave entrance buried deep in a gorge. The concealed opening was covered with a heavy wind-proofed canvas. They entered through the double fold.
“Oxygen equipped!” Rod stared his surprise.
“We have our creature comforts.” Williamson unlatched his helmet. “Crude but effective. We’ve been heating mercury oxide. There’s lots of it around. Set awhile—while I call the gang. They’ll be glad to see you.”
When the handshaking was over, Rod faced the hardbitten, sand-burned Survivors. These were the men who, like himself, had come through the testing. They had found the way to live on this planet—in the teeth of the conquerors of Earth. Now they needed him—needed his genius to guide them along the path to freedom—to conquest over the hated tetrarchs.
Rod looked at the intent faces about him. “First,” he said, “I want the answers to some questions. I’ve figured part of it out myself—check me if I go wrong.