"The great-grandfather of all space ships," added Barry.
"Look at the size of it, the diameter of those rocket tubes! Used a poor fuel, inefficiently. But they made it. Crashed through the roof of this place. Look at the dark patch overhead, where sand filled in a gap."
"'Justice from the Crypt'," murmured the girl. "I think I—"
"So do I," rapped Barry. "Come on, you and I are going inside. Tell the others to guard this opening!"
Hand-in-hand, the two of them passed through a yawning port. Beneath their feet, the ramp was solid. Metal did not corrode, in this dry atmosphere. The old ship had not deteriorated in its years here.
Barry Williams and the girl passed down a long passage, unlit except for the faint radioactive radiance that made its way in through smaller portholes. They came to a door, which would not yield to Barry's efforts.
"Locked," he said. "We can't stop for that." His heat ray came out. The beam played against the lock until the metal glowed and ran. Barry kicked at the bottom of the door where the metal was cooler. It swung inward.
"It's the control room," Barry said as their eyes slowly adjusted themselves to the even dimmer light of the room.
Barry's hand groped against the wall beside the door. There was a click, and a yellow radiance sprang from the ceiling. "Even the batteries are still good," he muttered.
"What is this?" Deisanocta cried with a shudder.