I held a bullet projector. With slow, cautious leaps, we advanced.
Anita was behind me. I had wanted to leave her with the platform, but
she would not stay. And to be with me seemed at least equally safe.
The rocks were deserted. I thought that there was very little chance
that any of the enemy would lurk here. We clambered over the pitted,
scarred surface; the higher crags, etched with Earthlight, stood like
sentinels in the gloom.
The brigand ship with its surrounding darkness was not far from us. No
one was out here. We passed the wreckage of broken projectors, and
gruesome, shattered human forms.
We prowled closer. The hull of the ship loomed ahead of us. All dark.
We came at last close against the sleek metal hull side, slid along it
to where I was sure the manual lock would be located.
Abruptly I realized that Anita was not behind me! Then I saw her at a
little distance, struggling in the grip of a giant helmeted figure!
The brigand lifted her--turned, and ran.
I did not dare fire. I bounded after them along the hull-side, around
under the curve of the pointed bow, down along the other side.
I had mistaken the hull port location. It was here. The running,
bounding figure reached it, slid the panel. I was only fifty feet
away--not much more than a single leap. I saw Anita being shoved into
the pressure lock. The Martian flung himself after her.
I fired at him in desperation, but missed. I came with a rush. And as
I reached the port, it slid closed in my face, barring me!