There was nothing to do now but wait. Mike's hopes were slim and desperate ones—that the slain man would not be missed for a while, and that the wreckage of the ship would not be cleared away until the following day.
The time dragged. Activity around the wreck dwindled and died out. Total darkness had not yet come and Mike prayed for a few more minutes of safety. But he was not to get it. A commotion over toward the city brought him to a break in the wreckage through which he could scan the area. A huge derrick-like affair, encrusted with the usual gold and gems, was lumbering toward the wrecked platform. A gang of workmen followed on foot. Incandescent balls were carried by another group, brightly illuminating the scene.
"We've got to run for it!" Mike said. "Out—everybody! Run straight to the left! There's an airfield over there. McKee and Talbott's ship is on the far edge. I saw it just before we fell!"
The four wormed their way out from under the wreckage. "That ship should be primed to go!" Nicko said with excitement.
"That's what I'm hoping."
"No!" Doree cried, and pulled away from Mike. "No! I won't go away from here and leave my father! We've got to try to help him!"
Mike did not hesitate. He swung a short solid right. It cracked against Doree's jaw and she went limp. "Sorry," he said grimly, "but this is no time to argue."
"We're going to hit that ship and blast out?" Nicko asked.
"What else? She'll hate me for it, but we've got to use common sense. There's nothing we can do for Professor Brandon this trip. Maybe we can come back later."