Palmer, white with shock, lunged forward, turning indignantly as Bradford's arm jerked him back.
"Soames—and Rutherford—" he stuttered. "We've got to do something!"
Bradford's lip twisted mirthlessly.
"What're you going to do—jump in after them? If there was anything left of them the fuel tanks took care of it. They're gone—we're here. And we'd better start figuring out what we're going to do about it."
The four of them looked at each other silently. They knew as well as he, what they faced. Theirs had been the task of setting up a temporary exploring base till the supply ship arrived in three months—with luck.
Supplies for six months and all their equipment except their emergency rations had gone down with the ship. No hope there—as well explore the Grand Canyon with a teaspoon as to try to salvage anything under that million tons of rock. Compressed food they had, two weeks supply per man; their extra oxygen tanks; an extra battery apiece for the suit heaters. Water would be their worst problem.
Bradford looked at the miles of barren, reddish wasteland and shrugged fatalistically.
"If there's any water at all, it will be at the Polar cap. We might as well get going—we've got a long hike."
Palmer grimaced wryly. "Forward, you Eagle Scouts. We can get our merit badges easy."
"Yeah, we can get them from Santa Claus at the Pole—" Rodriguez made a valiant attempt at his usual sardonic humor.