Steve Brent came into the control room. He looked haggard and unshaven, and he was stained with oily grease.
"What are you raving about, Portok?" he snapped.
"It's no raving, Steve!" the little Martian chattered, "I tell you I saw the three of them. The Chief, and Angus, and the Amazon girl—all riding on some kind of big fish and peering in that window!"
"You're going crazy!" Steve Brent snapped, but he walked to the window. His own eyes widened as he saw the strangely clad trio sitting their mounts outside. Gerry waved violently to him.
"Let us in, you idiot!" he shouted, forgetting that the Viking did not carry any audiphones that could pick up his words. He heard Steve's unsteady voice.
"Maybe we're both crazy, Portok, but I think they're really out there. Open the outer door to the starboard space-lock."
A small door swung open on the starboard side of the Viking's blue and silver hull. That small compartment had really been designed for dropping objects into the void of outer space, or for testing the quality of the atmosphere on any stray planetoids the Viking might have visited on her journey across the vastness of interplanetary space, but it would do for a water-lock in this instance.
Gerry and the others dismounted from their dolphins and let the reins hang. Angus gave his mount a slap on the flank. With a flip of its tail the big fish wheeled and swam off, and after a second the others followed it. Gerry led the way into the space-lock and closed the door behind him. It only took a few seconds for the blast of the Viking's powerful compressed air tanks to blow out the water. Then, as Gerry unstrapped his helmet and lifted the big glass globe off his head, Steve Brent opened the inner door and stepped into the space-lock.
"I don't know if I'm crazy or dreaming or what, Chief," he said, "but I'm damn glad to see you back."