"Lejeune," said Geitz finally, in short gasps, "in God's name will you get into the capsule and take that cylinder to Mercury? One of us has got to go—for Lane's sake!"
Lejeune, sprawled out on the pilot's bunk, made no reply. The captain stood before the dull gray view-screen, watched him a moment, thoughtfully. "Can't you reverse the field?" he asked at length. "I'd like to see the System just once more."
Rogers had already made a few deft motions on the instrument panel. Presently, the screen came to life. Its scope possessed a bright halo—the sun's glow. In the center of the screen Mercury was visible, a faint, receding globe. Rogers moved the scope slowly until he found the feeble point of light that designated the earth. He watched it grimly. "Satisfied, Geitz?"
"Dr. Geitz is dead," came Lejeune's monotone.
Rogers turned. The doctor lay on his face, immobile and silent.
"The heat," said Rogers, "and his age."
They carried him to the supply room, laid him beside the inert form of Lane.
The two men stood watching earth's dull glimmer on the screen. The heat pressed them relentlessly, always increasing—
"Take the capsule, Lejeune. You've no reason to remain."
"I prefer to stay, Captain Rogers. You have relatives—it is only proper that you should fly the capsule."