They were trapped, falling into the sun inevitably.
"One meteorite," said Lejeune casually, "one hurtling fragment of some interstellar gadabout which chose to cross our path at the wrong time. That's all it took to smash our jets and send the four of us toward that fiery mass."
"Shut up!" snapped Rogers. "It's bad enough without your moaning!"
Oblivious to the captain's words, Lejeune patted his bottle affectionately.
"In the name of heaven!" growled Geitz, leaping to his feet. "Why do we sit here like a lot of mummies? There's a rocket capsule aboard, you say, with sufficient power to carry one of us to Mercury. Why don't we use it? I ask you, Rogers."
"You answered that yourself," the captain said bluntly. "True, that rocket capsule can carry one of us to Mercury. Just one, understand—there's room for but one person in a capsule. I ask you—which one of us would that be?"
"That's beside the point," muttered Geitz, as he wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead. "You don't seem to realize what valuable information we possess. Think of that cylinder in the supply room. It contains all the photographs we took of Mercurian plant and animal life, and the photos of Vulcan. To say nothing of the data concerning the sun's corona—why, our analysis would be of infinite value to earth scientists!"
"Quite so," Rogers said crisply. "But while you're thinking about that, don't forget the three men who would be left aboard this ship—think of what would happen to them." He stopped his pacing and shook a finger under the doctor's imposing Van Dyke. "Do you know what would happen to them, Geitz? They'd burn alive—they'd cook—while on earth your scientists would hop around in glee over a few photographs of Mercury!"
Geitz sat down heavily, exhausted.
"The doc's right, Rogers," Lane interposed. "There's no reason for all four of us dying when it's possible for one to gain freedom. And for God's sake if you're going to do something do it in a hurry! We'll burn before you make up your mind!"