What are the odds, that the air of Sirius Three is breathable, he wondered. One in a hundred? The planet has water and both animal and plant life. Certainly it has sufficient gravity to hold its oxygen. But what other elements—noxious gases might be present. Maybe the odds are closer to one in fifty, he decided.
“But it’s no gamble when you have nothing to lose,” he told the Milky Way.
Ripping off his oxygen mask, he took a deep breath of the alien atmosphere. The dust choked him, his ears rang. Black spots danced before his eyes, then melted into solid blackness.
Brandon could hear Towers’ voice in a vortex of darkness.
“Let’s face it—Brandon is dead. Must have burned with the ship, at least that’s the way the report will read. Get me, Reinhardt?”
“Yes, sir,” the disembodied voice of Reinhardt replied quietly.
“We’re going to set her down on a solid piece of ground near one of the oceans.” There was a pause and Brandon could almost see Colonel Towers drawing up to his full height. “I’m going to be the first man to set foot on a planet of another solar system. Know what that means, Reinhardt?”
“A quantum jump sir?”
“Right. Leap-frogging ahead of the Reds. Wait till they read the name Colonel John Towers—maybe General John Towers—General.”
Brandon opened his eyes. Sirius was turning the sky to gray, trimming a few scattered clouds with gold. As he stared at the sky, Sirius rose with a brassy glare. Near it he could see its white hot dwarf star companion. It was going to be a real scorcher, he decided; worse than any desert on Earth. He sat up stiffly.