He leaned against the pitted side of the ship and stared up at the massive building.
"I was plenty sore at him when I caught him at it," he said. "I gave him one hell of a beating. I've always been sorry for that."
"What finally happened to him?" asked Scott.
"He ran out of the airlock without his suit," Hugh explained. "It took me half an hour to run him down and bring him back. He took pneumonia. You have to be careful here. Exposure to the Martian atmosphere plays hell with a man's lung tissues. You can breathe it all right ... might even be able to live in it for a few hours, but it's deadly just the same."
"Well, it's all over now," declared Scott. "We'll get my ship squared around and we'll blast off for Earth. We made it here and we can make it back. And you'll be the first man who ever set his foot on Mars."
Hugh grinned. "That will be something, won't it, Scott? But somehow I'm not satisfied. I haven't accomplished a thing. I haven't even found the Martians. I know they're here. An intelligance that's at least capable of thinking along parallel lines with us although its thought processes may not be parallel with ours."
"We'll talk it over later," said Scott. "After we get a cup of coffee into you. I bet you haven't had one in weeks."
"Weeks," jeered Hugh. "Man, it's been ten months."
"Okay, then," said Scott. "Let's round up Jimmy. He must be around here somewhere. I don't like to let him get out of my sight too much."