I snapped on the light, and glanced about seeking some means of escape. On a row of nails hung several over-suits; asbestoid garments, electrically heated, for use in the biting cold of the Cerean plains. Nothing there. I then turned my attention to the door. It was of very thin, very strong plastic. Taon had not locked it, only slid home the iron bolt that fitted loosely in the brass staples. No chance, however, of working it free from this side; and while I might conceivably force the door open by battering against it, the noise would be sure to bring Taon and my father from the next room to recapture me. If any escape were made, it must be done quietly. Outside I could hear the roar of the oxy-hydrogen torch, cutting into the big wall-safe where my uncle's fortune in palladium was stored.
Then suddenly the idea struck me. A wild idea, true, but one which, if it succeeded, would enable me to draw the bolt quietly. I turned to the rear of the closet, and began working back and forth one of the nails upon which over-suits were hung. After some difficulty, it came loose. My next task was more difficult ... stripping the wire from one of the electrically heated suits. The point of the nail aided me in ripping open the tough asbestoid. At length I obtained fully ten feet of wire and commenced wrapping it about the nail. This done, I tore loose the bulb and socket from the light, and, working in the dark, in danger of a severe shock, managed to connect the live wires to my wire-wrapped nail, forming a crude, but, I hoped, powerful magnet. But was it powerful enough to be effective through the thin, tough plastic door?
I paused, listening. The sound of the torch would cover the noise of drawing the bolt. And if I could escape unobserved, climb through one of the windows.... Holding my magnet against the door jamb, I moved it slowly to one side. A faint squeak seemed to indicate that the bolt had moved. I repeated the operation again, and again, drawing the bolt a fraction of an inch each time. The little magnet, separated from the piece of iron by a quarter inch of steel-tough plastic, still had sufficient force to grip the bolt, draw it slightly. At last, after a score or more attempts, the bolt slid clear of the brass staples. A touch of my shoulder sent the door ajar. I was free!
Very cautiously I peered through the crack. The room before me was dark, but beyond the doorway at its far end I could see Uncle John's office, brilliantly lighted by the whitish flame of the oxy-hydrogen torch. My father was still seated upon the edge of the table, swinging one foot; his face was intent, far-away. He seemed to be peering into the dim mists of the past as he sat there, and I noticed that his suave, bitter mask had vanished. Taon was working on the safe. His brutish, colossal shadow was visible on the wall like that of some great grim satyr.
With infinite care I pushed open the closet door, stepped out, then slid the bolt again to make it appear that I was still a prisoner. On tiptoe I approached a window, raised it. Still no sound other than the hiss of the torch. I swung down to the ground, closed the window behind me, and ran toward the sleek silvery little space-ship.
The ice-covered plain was bitter cold; I had neglected to put on one of the asbestoid over-suits. The deserted huts, the head of the mine shaft loomed like a row of dark specters in the wan starlight. And since the cold light of the stars was cast from different angles, double, triple and even quadruple shadows fell across the barren wastes. Bleak, desolate, to an earthman, but I was used to the cold Cerean scene. Great jagged pinnacles of rock stabbing like crooked daggers at the frosty sky; rounded meteor holes dug into the ground; occasional patches of pale ice-moss, dangling like white beards from the grotesque rocks; and beyond, the glistening plain, dropping away to a ridiculously close horizon. I gasped in the cold air as I ran, felt it bite my lungs. Without gravity shoes, I covered the distance to the ship in a dozen great bounding leaps. No signs of life were visible aboard her and I felt that from the size of the little vessel it was unlikely she carried more of a crew than my father and Taon. If there were others aboard, I would have to take my chances.
I glanced up at the ship. Her burnished hull shone in the thin light; the heavy outer door of the circular air-lock remained open as my father had left it. I reached up, grasped the metal stanchion, drew myself into the air-lock. A moment later I had pushed open the inner door, entered the vessel.
The little ship was dimly lit, shadowy, inside. Glancing about, I found myself in a narrow companionway, one end of which led to the living quarters of the craft, the other, stretching in the direction of the control room. I turned in this latter direction, running softly to prevent my shoes from clanging on the metal floor-plates; for while the ship was silent as a tomb, I could take no chances on anyone else being aboard, surprising me.
The door to the control room, at the end of the passage, was open. For a moment, as I raced along the corridor, I had entertained thoughts of making off with the ship, leaving my father and Taon marooned on Ceres, where they would soon be tracked down. Sight of the control panel, with its complicated array of dials, gauges, and switches, soon dispelled this illusion. I had never flown a space-ship before, and any attempt on my part to do so now must surely result in disaster. But with the big ultra-wave communications set that stood to one side of the control panel it would be a simple matter to call Verlis, as I had previously attempted, and notify Uncle John.