Bump!
The plane jarred down to a rough landing, streamed across the snow in a swirl of wind-driven ice dust. Ricker thought of what the Martian had said. Ten thousand planes—where? The man was mad. There was no place on this naked planet to hide a factory.
"Forty-four-five!" said Hines. Apparently it was their magnetic position on Neptune. Ricker remembered it.
"Right," said Gurren. "Dig in!" He threw the brake, made a breathtaking stop and held the plane like a wild horse against the wind.
Hines pulled a trigger on the wheel. A misty cloud of white—steam—suddenly frosted the windows. An angry hissing penetrated the walls and the falling sensation rose in Ricker again, though he could see nothing through the ice-coated ports. His eyes widened.
The plane had landed, but it continued to fall!
Ricker stared at the pilots with mixed exasperation and astonishment. He glanced at Molly Borden but she was blasé as ever. Finally he turned to Vanger.
"Would you mind telling me what's going on?" he asked with more nonchalance than he felt.
"Not at all." The Martian grimaced with what was his smile. "Since you won't live to repeat it, we're bound for the perfect hideout—beneath the snows of Neptune."
He laughed and the sound of his laughter mingled with the whispering hiss of steam, seemed to echo from the painted windows which had now turned black.