Torchlight reflected from Wass' faceplate as he turned his head. "Why not?"
They were like children.... "We don't know, released, what they'll do."
"Skipper," Wass said carefully, "if we don't get out of this place by the deadline we may be eating these."
Martin raised his arm tensely. "Opening a seed bank doesn't help us find a way out of here." He started up the ramp. "Besides, we've no water."
Rodney came last up the ramp, less jaunty now, but still holding the gun. His mind, too, was taken up with childhood's imaginings. "For a plant to grow in this environment, it wouldn't need much water. Maybe—" he had a vision of evil plants attacking them, growing with super-swiftness at the air valves and joints of their suits "—only the little moisture in the atmosphere."
They stood before the switchboard again. Martin and Wass side by side, Rodney, still holding his gun, slightly to the rear.
Rodney moved forward a little toward the switches. His breathing was loud and rather uneven in the radio receivers.
Martin made a final effort. "Rodney, it's still almost nine hours to take off. Let's search awhile first. Let this be a last resort."
Rodney jerked his head negatively. "No. Now, I know you, Martin. Postpone and postpone until it's too late, and the ship leaves without us and we're stranded here to eat seeds and gradually dehydrate ourselves and God only knows what else and—"