Jonathan Lane was loudly exuberant.
"This is fine!" he declared. "We owe those grease-balls a vote of thanks. This is an ideal refuge. Shady and cool and safe—and look! We can even see the ship from the heights, here! If anyone—I mean, when they come to rescue us, we can signal them."
Mallory hoped the slip had passed unnoticed by Dorothy. "If anyone—" the skipper had started to say. Which meant that he, too, had misgivings as to the likelihood of rescue. But that was a question Mallory would not press. He hurdled the awkward moment with a swift response.
"We'll have to have something to signal with, sir. Our bulger audios won't operate that far, will they? We'll have to build a fire, or at least have one ready to be kindled when they arrive."
"Right," agreed the skipper. "But we can't gather wood until those protos have gone away. We'll take care of that later. Meanwhile—" He glanced into the jetty depths beyond them. "It will be some hours before we can expect to get relief. Time to waste. Why not amuse ourselves by exploring this cave?"
"Explo—" began Tim. It was a childish idea. One so ridiculous, in fact, that it was on the tip of Mallory's tongue to make caustic rejoinder to Lane's suggestion. But even as the comment trembled on his lips, his eyes met those of the captain—and in Lane's shrewd, pleading glance, Tim found a reason and an answer for this subterfuge.
Lane feared that very thing which he, himself, had dreaded. This cave might be their refuge for a long, long time!
There might be no rescue party. If so, and since a trek across the Badlands was suicidal, their only chance for ultimate salvation was to find a place where they could live. This cave was such a place. If it had water, and if it were undenizened by wild beasts; if in it, or near it, they could find food....
He hoped his voice was not too suspiciously hearty.
"Great idea!" he agreed. "Splendid. It should be a lot of fun. What do you say, Dorothy?"