"Okay," Web said, "cross your fingers." He opened the door.
A great bright light shone out of the opening. For a brief moment he was startled, until he realized that it was only the normal electric light of the room, intensified by the black around him. Cautiously, with his handflash held like a club, he stepped into the room.
There was nobody behind the door.
"What's up, what's up?" Dundon called.
"Nothin'," Web said. "Listen, don't keep getting in my hair. I'll tell you what happens as I go along. I'm in the receiving room. Nobody here. But the lights are on."
The room was bare, metal-floored, lined with lockers. Two of the lockers were open, and from where he stood Web could see clothing hanging from pegs. There was nothing unusual about the room. Web described it to Dundon, walked across the floor to the next door.
"Don't take your helmet off," Dundon roared.
"You bet your sweet life," Web grinned. "I have to leave the doors open a little to let the radio line pass through. The pressure's going down pretty quick."
"Oh," said Dundon. And then after a while he said, "Let's hope there's nobody alive in there."
"If he is," Web said, "he's somebody we don't need. There's nothing wrong with the reflector. He could have light-signaled any time he wanted to."