"We'll give it a wide circle," said DiCredico. "See if there's any visible danger."
It took twenty minutes to make the circle. Nobody saw anything.
"Something's damned queer," said Regan.
"Something's always queer," said DiCredico. "Now, here's the plan. Get your suits on. From Krotzer's reports, whatever is after him is stopped or impeded by material substance. Then we go in one at a time. I go first. If nothing happens to me, Regan comes in. If he makes it, Bailey. Then Fry. If anything goes wrong, I want the man with next turn to try the other side of the bubble. Except you, Fry. If you're the only one left, get back to the ship. You'll have to make a report, and you and the men can decide the next step. Dig?"
They nodded. DiCredico sauntered off through the spongy feathers. He reached the bubble, looked in, waved on Regan. Regan reached it, peered into it, turned and waved to Bailey, an odd expression on his face.
Bailey started across the red field. Aloneness, menace, strangeness settled on him as he walked. Maybe you got used to these feelings. Maybe you got over them. Maybe they got you. Or maybe something else got you. So this was the service.
He was at the bubble. Fry and DiCredico were looking at him so strangely ... partly expectant, appraising, ironic—indefinable. Matt turned to wave Fry on, then went up and peered into the bubble.
Then he knew what had happened to Captain Krotzer.
The captain sat with his shirt undone and dirty, his eyes fixed glassily to a place on the dome some twenty feet from where Bailey stood. Unkempt beard was on his face. A blaster lay on the table. The bodies of his crew lay about him.