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Authors: The Hidden Planet
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sometime."
"You've
done it. You got us down."
He rose unsteadily. "We'd better let the
others out," he said.
By tacit agreement they looked for the
captain first. But he, the second officer, and any other members of the crew
who hadn't actually been dead before the landing were crushed in a flat
envelope of steel which had once been the drive room. They couldn't get near
them, which was perhaps just as well. They made their way to the store-room and
unlocked the door.
It hadn't been a bad landing, in the
circumstances. There had been fifteen people in the room, and seven of them
were still alive, though two would never recover consciousness. As it happened,
they would have been safer in the nose with Warren and Virginia, but no one
could have known that.
Warren took stock of them, ignoring the moans
and screams. He ignored the dead too. If they were dead, it didn't matter whether they were unmarked or a disgusting pulp. It
was the living who mattered. Waters, the actor, was bleeding from mouth and
ears in a way that showed he was still alive. His wife was breathing, which was
rather horrible, for her neck was obviously broken.
The other five were almost unhurt.
Fortunately the doctor, Williamson, was on his feet and looked sane and well.
Standing beside him, apparently only dazed, was old Martin, who was ninety and
had come through the crash as well as anyone. Three others were stirring on
the floor, and Smith, with a broken wrist, seemed to be the most seriously
injured, though it was the women who were doing most of the screaming and
moaning.
Mrs. Martin could hardly be blamed, for like
most of those in the room she had lost some of her clothes in a blast of air
which must have swept the room, and was probably screaming more at finding
herself half-naked in company at the age of seventy-five than anything else.
But the Glamour Girl, whose name Warren didn't know, was screaming only because
she always screamed when anything happened. Warren had met girls like her
before, and had not been impressed.
At
the evidence of a blast of air Warren looked round quickly and sniffed. But the
ship was airtight. There was no hiss of escaping air, and the pressure was
high— tpo high, if anything. Perhaps there had been a
rift which had immediately been sealed by the weight and momentum of the ship.
There were cracks and holes in the inner walls, but they were not as strong as
the hull.
"All right,
doctor?" he asked. "You take over."
"Doesn't
look as if there's much I can do," said Williamson wryly.
"Don't
be modest," Warren said. The doctor stared blankly, and Virginia shot a
quick glance at Warren. He had gone down in her estimation again, he decided.
Glamour
was tugging at his lapel and screaming: "Get me out of here! Get me
out!"
"Into
the open?" he asked coolly. "You'd die in eight hours. But long
before that the Greys would have got you."
She
hadn't heard him. She was still screaming, "Get me out of here!" Her
dress had a spectacular plunging neckline as if rent open by the blast, but it
was natural. Her hair wasn't even disheveled. She was completely unmarked and
very beautiful, which was a pity, Warren thought, for she didn't deserve to be.
Better people had died in the crash.
Virginia
pulled her gently away from him. "You said something about the Norman
Hills. Do you know where we are?"
"It's
only a guess," he admitted, "but I think I do. Almost exactly, if I'm
anywhere near right at all."
"How's that?"
"We're
lying up a bare slope, on soft soil. But we hit rock first, and if we came down
roughly straight we just missed the forest. That puts us somewhere on a narrow
belt twenty to thirty miles from City Four— Cefor for
short." "And how are our chances?"
He looked round at the others, now silent and
hanging on his words, even Glamour and Mrs. Martin, whose husband had wrapped
her in his jacket. There was no point in letting it out slowly. Might as well get it over with.
"Our chances must be better now
"You've
done it. You got us down."
He rose unsteadily. "We'd better let the
others out," he said.
By tacit agreement they looked for the
captain first. But he, the second officer, and any other members of the crew
who hadn't actually been dead before the landing were crushed in a flat
envelope of steel which had once been the drive room. They couldn't get near
them, which was perhaps just as well. They made their way to the store-room and
unlocked the door.
It hadn't been a bad landing, in the
circumstances. There had been fifteen people in the room, and seven of them
were still alive, though two would never recover consciousness. As it happened,
they would have been safer in the nose with Warren and Virginia, but no one
could have known that.
Warren took stock of them, ignoring the moans
and screams. He ignored the dead too. If they were dead, it didn't matter whether they were unmarked or a disgusting pulp. It
was the living who mattered. Waters, the actor, was bleeding from mouth and
ears in a way that showed he was still alive. His wife was breathing, which was
rather horrible, for her neck was obviously broken.
The other five were almost unhurt.
Fortunately the doctor, Williamson, was on his feet and looked sane and well.
Standing beside him, apparently only dazed, was old Martin, who was ninety and
had come through the crash as well as anyone. Three others were stirring on
the floor, and Smith, with a broken wrist, seemed to be the most seriously
injured, though it was the women who were doing most of the screaming and
moaning.
Mrs. Martin could hardly be blamed, for like
most of those in the room she had lost some of her clothes in a blast of air
which must have swept the room, and was probably screaming more at finding
herself half-naked in company at the age of seventy-five than anything else.
But the Glamour Girl, whose name Warren didn't know, was screaming only because
she always screamed when anything happened. Warren had met girls like her
before, and had not been impressed.
At
the evidence of a blast of air Warren looked round quickly and sniffed. But the
ship was airtight. There was no hiss of escaping air, and the pressure was
high— tpo high, if anything. Perhaps there had been a
rift which had immediately been sealed by the weight and momentum of the ship.
There were cracks and holes in the inner walls, but they were not as strong as
the hull.
"All right,
doctor?" he asked. "You take over."
"Doesn't
look as if there's much I can do," said Williamson wryly.
"Don't
be modest," Warren said. The doctor stared blankly, and Virginia shot a
quick glance at Warren. He had gone down in her estimation again, he decided.
Glamour
was tugging at his lapel and screaming: "Get me out of here! Get me
out!"
"Into
the open?" he asked coolly. "You'd die in eight hours. But long
before that the Greys would have got you."
She
hadn't heard him. She was still screaming, "Get me out of here!" Her
dress had a spectacular plunging neckline as if rent open by the blast, but it
was natural. Her hair wasn't even disheveled. She was completely unmarked and
very beautiful, which was a pity, Warren thought, for she didn't deserve to be.
Better people had died in the crash.
Virginia
pulled her gently away from him. "You said something about the Norman
Hills. Do you know where we are?"
"It's
only a guess," he admitted, "but I think I do. Almost exactly, if I'm
anywhere near right at all."
"How's that?"
"We're
lying up a bare slope, on soft soil. But we hit rock first, and if we came down
roughly straight we just missed the forest. That puts us somewhere on a narrow
belt twenty to thirty miles from City Four— Cefor for
short." "And how are our chances?"
He looked round at the others, now silent and
hanging on his words, even Glamour and Mrs. Martin, whose husband had wrapped
her in his jacket. There was no point in letting it out slowly. Might as well get it over with.
"Our chances must be better now
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