I was sitting early one evening near the monight hour, alone with
Frannie in the observation room. Dr. Gryce, in the room adjoining, had
fallen asleep, worn by repressed anxiety and his now almost day and
night vigil. We were talking in half-whispers; and abruptly Frannie
voiced the fear that possessed us all.
"Oh, Frank, can't you see them? Please, you must! Oh, I'm afraid
they're never coming back. Never--coming back."
It sounded so horrible. "Hush, Frannie. You mustn't say things like
that." I put my arm around her, and suddenly like a child she flung
herself to me; sobbed, and clung to me.
"Hush, Frannie. Don't cry--please don't cry. I'll look again. I might
see them now. I'll try to."
I drew away from her; went back to my instrument. I had in mind to try
the myrdoscope, but all our efforts with it during the two weeks past
had been unavailing. It was a calm, clear evening. A broadly crescent
moon was falling into the west. Mars was well above the eastern
horizon; through the electro-telescope I looked that way. My circular
field was empty. Frannie was checking her sobs, interested with hope
renewed.
"Don't you see them, Frank?"
"No--not yet--_Yes_! I see them! Frannie, I see them!"
From visually above the red planet, out of nothingness a huge shape
suddenly materialized. It had not been there an instant before; it
seemed for the space of a thought, a transparent ghost of the vehicle;
solidifying until even before I had told Frannie, I was aware that I
saw it there. The vehicle unmistakable.
"They've come, Frannie! I see them! Call your father. Dr. Gryce!
They've come! They're safe!"
How my heart leaped to be able to say it! Frannie was calling; and Dr.
Gryce, no more than half awake, repeating, "They've come? They're in
sight? They're safe?"
This gentle old man, how full of thankfulness his heart must have been!
He came stumbling into the room. "Where are they, Frank? You can see
them, lad?"
I could see them indeed--plainly, for abruptly I realized that they
were no farther than just beyond the earth's atmosphere. And I could
see also the conventional vane flying at horizontal above the vehicle's
tower to denote that all was well within. They had come. They were safe.
They landed in the garden. Like a wafting feather the vehicle floated
down under Brett's skilled guidance. It was of a size seemingly
identical with the one it had upon departure, but evidence of its trip
was everywhere visible. Its gleaming milk-white color was dulled. Its
sides were pitted and scarred--the metal burned. A lower corner seemed
fused into a shapeless lump.
The door slid open as we crowded forward. My heart was pounding. A
sudden, irrelevant thought leaped to me--a thought, hope, that they
might have brought back with them that strangely beautiful girl they
had gone to rescue. A thought abruptly, fiercely poignant--yet with
it a consciousness of its whimsicality that I--Frank Elgon--who loved
Frannie Gryce, should be possessed of such incongruous desire.
The door was open. Brett and Martt--queerly garbed to seem almost
strangers--were crowding there, with no one else behind them. But
already I had forgotten the girl. Frannie's glad cries of welcome rang
out; and Dr. Gryce's tremulous greeting; and I heard my own voice,
strangely calm, "Well! Brett--Martt--you got back safely, didn't you?
I'm so glad--we're all so glad!"
_CHAPTER 6_