Gary said slowly, "Why—I have no strings on Nora, if that's what you mean, Hugh. We're friends, but—"
"But there's no understanding between you?"
"No."
Warren laughed relievedly. "Well, in that case, you wouldn't have any objection if I—well, sort of showed her around a little? Maybe pointing out, meanwhile, that a certain Hugh Warren isn't a bad sort of guy?"
"No," said Gary even more slowly. "No, of course not, Hugh. You have every right in the world to do so."
It was all very open and above board. Nora was a fine girl and Gary admired her greatly. Hugh was a great guy and an old friend. In view of these facts, it is strange that when Warren, that night after dinner, took Nora's arm in his and wandered off with her to the observation deck of the Liberty, young Dr. Lane should have found himself suddenly seized with a restlessness and impatience quite outside the usual emotional experience of an earnest scientist with a burning mission before him....
So the long hours rolled by, becoming days, and the slow days passed until at length the sun lay far behind them, a dwindling ochre glow in the black of space. And before them, increasingly larger with each hour of flight, lay a huge crimson sphere, scored with a multitude of crisscross scars, about which endlessly circled a pair of hurtling satellites. The planet Mars.
Toward that they flashed at constant driving speed, filled with a gathering impatience now that the second stage of their quest was so near completion. Only three men seemed in any way perturbed by the approaching nearness of the red planet. They, significantly enough, were the three trained spacemen upon whom evolved the duty of guiding the Liberty from orb to orb.
Flick Muldoon who, mechanically inclined, had shown intense interest in the technique of spaceflight throughout the journey, was surprised, on that day when finally their destination loomed directly before them, to note a growing apprehension in the eyes and actions of the three astrogators.