Sudden reaction hit Pell and he sat down heavily. For the first time he noticed their surroundings. The crushed wreck of the little space ship was poised on the brink of a small stream and faintly Pell heard it tumbling over rapids in the distance. The stream disappeared around a small rise in ground and to the right and left at a distance of perhaps five miles, Pell could make out rocky escarpments of a mighty range of mountains clearly defined in the light of the late afternoon sun. The air had a distinct chill in it and Pell was on the point of returning to the ship to try to salvage some garments when he heard Gret Helmuth gasp. He bent over her as her eyes opened.
"Pell ... did we make it?" she asked painfully.
He smoothed the hair from her face tenderly and grinned. "Yeah, we made it. But there isn't much left of the ship."
She tried to rise from her prone position and half succeeded when she fell back with a moan.
Pell laughed and said, "I wouldn't try that so soon, Gret. Better let the corpuscles splash around before you do it again."
He made as if to rise, touching her hand. Instinctively it tightened on his and he settled beside her again. The Centauri sky was a deep cobalt blue and the wind was keen and bracing. He felt in his jumper pocket for a couple of cigarettes and his atomic lighter. The novelty's vicious looking, hazy blue flame made Gret jump in spite of herself and Pell grinned.
At length the girl spoke. "Pell, I don't like the idea of waiting around here. I mean ... well, I have a feeling that something is wrong."
Pell glanced at her. It was plain to see that she was worried and uncertain; he could almost feel it as a tangible thing.
"How do you mean?" he asked her.