"Any news, Mr. Grant?" she asked quietly, stepping into the control room.
"None." He shook a gloomy head. "I don't like it! There's something strange going on, Miss Conway! The trail's perfectly clear, there's no life on Ceres that we know of. One man might conceivably meet with some sort of accident, but not two! They tell stories about Darkside; queer stories! About alien, unknown creatures."
"I ... I know," the girl said tightly. "Dad used to hear those stories, too, when he and Allers were prospecting here. When Dad died he left me enough money to charter this ship, told me to come here to Ceres for my legacy. Gave me the chart showing where this pocket of pitchblend was located." She glanced at the lead chests. "Now Allers, Dad's closest friend, is gone. And Kennerly. And we're trapped, made virtual prisoners in this ship by something unknown—out there. We've got to get word through, Mr. Grant! It's death to stay here until our oxygen is gone. Death, maybe worse, waiting for us out there in the darkness...." She broke off, suddenly, swaying.
"Steady!" Grant gripped the girl's shoulder. "It's the bad air! I'll go tell Harris to crack open one of the emergency oxygen flasks. You'd better lie down."
Like a flash the girl's red head snapped up. "You're a romanticist, Mr. Grant," she said. "You seem to think I ought to be a languishing heroine. Well, I'm not. I'm in command of this expedition and if there're any risks to be taken, I'm taking them! Have Harris open an oxygen flask and then check over my space-suit! As soon as I get my breath, I'm going out and look for Allers and Kennerly!" She waved aside Grant's remonstrances. "Orders, Mr. Grant!"
Face stony, Grant left the control room, strode along the companionway to the fo'castle. The Comet's crew, perhaps half a dozen men all told, were stretched upon their bunks, faces drawn as they fought against the stale air. Grant motioned to Harris, the squat, ugly mate.
"Air's getting thick," he said. "Better crack an emergency tube."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Harris lifted a steel plate in the floor, swung down the iron ladder. Some moments later he emerged from the storehold, carrying an oxygen flask.
"Funny!" The mate rubbed his stubbly chin. "I coulda swore we had twenty emergency flasks below. But there's only five more down there."
"Five!" Grant's eyes narrowed. "There were twenty when we left earth! I counted 'em!"