On the tele-talkie screen, Reinhardt, alone in the radio room, was calling quietly for Brandon. The bulkhead door swung open and Towers poked his head through.
“Knock that off,” said Towers sternly, “and take your landing station.” As Reinhardt rose to his feet, Brandon reached over and turned off the set.
Brandon took a deep breath. His head spun and for the first time he realized that he was still alive. He gazed across the shimmering desert to a ridge of scrubby hills. Blue mountains rose up beyond them. Great floes of black lava had rolled down onto the desert floor at some distant time. They were spotted with clumps of gray grass even as was the desert. The hills were studded with weird trees standing stiff, branches outstretched, like an army of scarecrows.
The air of Sirius Three was doing strange things to him. Two of the trees seemed to be [p28] moving. He swayed and sat heavily.
As he watched through a haze of red dust whipped up by the morning breeze, the two trees came closer, turned into men wearing desert uniforms and leaned over him.
“Are you okay?” one of them asked.
Brandon said nothing.
“We saw you from our observation station over on the hill,” said the other pointing.
They helped Brandon to his feet and gave him a swig of cool, sweet water from a canteen.
“I’m Captain Brandon, of the Astro One.”