Commander Cynthia examined the fallen man. She gestured to Vulc who grasped him and stretched him over the ore in his own sled. The Commander's face was drawn and white through the visiplate, and her eyes were tragic. Mark was seeing evidences today that she was not entirely cold and heartless, as he had at first thought.
It seemed an eternity before they were through with their task. At last the sleds were loaded to capacity, and they rested a while before starting the return journey.
They could only pull the heavy sleds slowly now, and only the knowledge that every mile brought them nearer to the Base, away from this suffocating hell, spurred them on.
After a while the Commander called a halt, and the men sank down against their sleds like puppets whose strings have been cut. There was a strange absence of curses and rebellion against the appalling experience they were undergoing; there was not enough strength left for that.
Then Mark saw Commander Cynthia suddenly stand up. Through the visiplate her eyes were wide, and they mirrored horror!
VI
"Up on your feet, every man of you! Test your oxygen tanks—quickly!" Her voice was tense with suppressed emotion.
Something in her tone seemed to cut a path through the heat-ridden lethargy of their minds, for the men staggered to their feet, hands fumbling for the testing buttons.
Mark found his, and his eyes darted to the tiny dial inside his helmet. The pointer swung and registered one hour. Frantically he pressed the button again; once more the pointer inexorably indicated the same period of time.