Then he remembered something and took it off again. He smeared dirt over the brand on his forehead, hoping he was concealing it. He put the helmet back on.
Getting to his feet, he ran across the clearing and through the open outer door of the airlock. He shut it behind him and, waiting a few minutes, took off the helmet. There was air in the airlock.
He had done this without fear or reflection. On a planet like Mars, only a thin line of oxygen stood between life and death. The outer door to every airlock on every dome stood open unless the inner door was opened, and oxygen automatically filled the airlock when the outer door was closed. It was a custom which could save lives.
The inner airlock door was a different proposition. No one liked to be caught unawares by visitors. It was locked.
Shaan knew the closing of the outer airlock door had set off an alarm inside the dome. He waited. He could see the house and the gardens, a little distorted, through the transparent plastic of the inner door.
After a few moments, a figure emerged from the house and approached the airlock. When the figure got closer, it became a young woman in the shorts and blouse customarily worn inside the domes. She held a heat-gun in her hand.
"Who is it?" she asked through the communicator.
"I'm Robbo Shaan," he answered. "I'm a government mail pilot. My plane went down on the desert."
"Why didn't you wait for rescue?"
"Radio went out before I crashed. Helmet radio, too. I'll have to call for help from here."