"All ready? Start your motor."
Jeff reached down and flicked a switch. The tiny, powerful jack motor began to spin, and the jack base settled more solidly against its rocky bed. When he was sure that it would not slip, he left it, and went around the rockets to stand by his father.
His face was grey.
"Well," said Pete tensely, "up she goes."
The nose of the alien ship was raising slowly from the sand. It quivered softly from some motion inside the ship.
"Yes," said Jeff, "up she goes." His words were flat and dull. Pete turned to look at him.
"Scared, son?" he asked. Jeff's lips parted, closed and opened again.
"You know how we stand," he said, dully. "I've heard what you said from other men, but never from an alien. Most of the ones we know hit first, and talk afterward. You know that once this ship is on its feet we're at his mercy. Just his rocket blasts alone could kill us; and there won't be time to get back to the Girl."
The alien was now at an angle of forty-five degrees. The little jacks stretched steadily, pushing their thin, stiff arms against the strange hull. Sand dripped from the rising ship.
"Yes, Jeff," Pete said. "I know. But the important thing isn't what he does, but what we do. The fact that we've helped him—can't you see it that way, son?"