"Yourself, sir, and myself; Lieutenant Peterson, Mr. Chitterwick, Mr. Goeblin, Mr. Milton and...."
"Great scott, out of thirty men?"
"You know how it was, sir. That business with the Martians and then, our own difficulties—"
"Yes. Our own difficulties. Isn't it ironic, somehow, Friden? We band together and fly away from war and, no sooner are we off the earth but we begin other wars.... I've often felt that if Appleton hadn't been so aggressive with that gun we would never have been kicked off Mars. And why did we have to laugh at them? Oh, I'm afraid I haven't been a very successful captain."
"You're in a mood, sir."
"Am I? I suppose I am. Look! There's a farm, an actual farm!"
"Not really!"
"Why, I haven't seen one for twenty years."
The door flew open and Lieutenant Peterson came in, panting. "Mr. Milton checked off every instruction, sir, and we're going down now."
"He's sure there's enough fuel left for the brake?"