"There's a small room inside," he told us, and climbed through the opening.
We waited outside and focused our lamps through the five-foot opening to give him as much light as possible.
"Come on in, Marie," he called to his wife. "This is really something! It must be an alien race. There's all kinds of weird drawings on the walls and gadgets that look like controls for something...."
Briefly, my lamp flickered over Marie's pale face. Her features struggled with two conflicting emotions: She was frightened by the alienness of the thing and yet she wanted to be with her husband. She hesitated momentarily, then climbed through the passage.
"You want to go in?" my wife asked.
"Do you?"
"Let's."
I helped Verana through the opening, climbed through myself and turned to help Miller.
Miller was sixty years old. He was an excellent mineralogist, alert mentally, but with a body that was almost feeble. I reached out to help him as he stepped into the passageway.
For a brief second, he was framed in the opening, a dark silhouette against the star-studded sky.