It took their eyes a minute to adjust to the slanting afternoon
sunlight into which they were thrust. The rocky backbone of the planet
pierced the red sands here, and through the ages the wind-driven sand
had carved the outcropping into caves and spires and overhanging ledges
and gaunt pockmarked cliffs, all piled together in wildest confusion.
They were left in a rough, rocky bowl deep within the outcropping,
hidden from the desert by the surrounding cliffs and pinnacles.
The tunnel mouth was merely a black hole, almost indistinguishable from
a multitude of shadowed cavities where sand-laden storm winds had found
soft spots in the stone.
Cautiously Nick climbed the slanting wall of the bowl.
"Come here, Sue," he called.
Shading their eyes against the red glare of the wasteland they could
discern the hangars and barracks of Central Camp a few miles to the
south, and beyond that the hulking, dark mass of the ancient Martian
city. But it was Central Camp, its buildings and landing ground and the
thin metallic ribbon of the barrier, that held their attention.
"No ship," Susan said. The small rocket hangars could not possibly hide
the bulk of a spacecraft.
"The supply freighter just left. Not another scheduled for eight weeks."
"What'll we do?" she asked plaintively.