"How d'you know?"
"Had a hunch. Don't ask me why—unless it's that the Martian makes me suspicious. Anyway, I tested the scanner; turned it inside and aimed it all over the ship. Nothing doing. No life in here, according to it. So something's the matter with it, and I'm damned if I can figure what."
Pink said, "That means what?"
"Means that if Fawcett or any of his men are out there, we won't know it. We could flash right by them, or through 'em for that matter, and never know it."
"Nothing more serious, though?"
"That's bad enough, isn't it?" Jerry asked him.
"Sure, sure." Pink shook himself. "I feel—I guess wary is the word." Jerry looked a question. "Yeah," said Pinkham uncomfortably, "it's the Martian. A nice guy and all, but he makes me wonder."
"Four thousand years plus," nodded Jerry.
"No, not that. I think that's possible. It's something else, son."
"What?"