As they ran with loping strides across the frozen plain, Trace heard a
shout behind him; he turned his head and there was Hafnagel, pounding
after them and calling desperately. Trace slowed a little, jogged on
until the big man had caught up with him. "I thought you lit out for
the thickets," said Trace shortly.
Hafnagel panted. "I decided to throw in with you," he said. "I was
lying out in the brush listening to you.... I was lonely." He waved
his hands, groping for an explanation for conduct he did not wholly
understand. "You're crazy," he said, "but I have to go with you. A
fellow's got to strike back, I guess. He can't take everything lying
down."
"Come on," said Trace.
They neared the first saucer, which lay, a colossal green metal eye
staring up at heavy clouds in the winter sky, quiet and yet aware. Bill
Blacknight said, a crack in his voice, "Are they looking at us? Are
they watching us, Trace?"
"Dunno. We're going inside. Remember, once a Graken sees us, the whole
bloody tribe of 'em knows where we are. We've got to kill instantly, or
knock the helmets off before we're spied, understand?"
"But a helmet sends a radio message when it's removed," the midget
Slough protested. "Those helmets called the aliens to them--"
"I doubt it," said Trace. "I think they're useless without a Graken
head in 'em. Each of those beauties had a second or so in which to
think _danger, danger_! Now let's find the way into this hulk." He
turned away impatiently. There was no time to argue possibilities.
There was only time to act, and maybe there wasn't even that.
Swiftly he completed a full turn around the silent spacecraft. He
could see nothing that might be an entrance; the green metal, steel or
whatever alloy might be tougher than steel, showed no crack or crevice.
Lord, he thought prayerfully, Lord, we have to find it fast.
Slough said, "It must be one of the ports. Check the ports." He
gestured to the rim of the saucer, a thick border which widened every
thirty feet to make an oval opening; these were perhaps two feet deep,
and closed there by a smooth plate of metal which Trace presumed
would slide away in time of need, to allow guns to project or possibly
to serve as rocket jet exhausts. The openings would admit a man, all
right, even so large a man as a Graken. And if one of these was the
door, then it must be openable from the outside.
He set his group to checking each port; but Bill Blacknight stepped
back a little, his mind buzzing. If I was a green one-eyed bird-foot,
he thought, and I was trotting up to my personal saucer, I wouldn't
want to peer closely at every damn port on the rim before I found the
door, would I? Hell, I'd want some sign somewhere, a pointer I could
spot without any trouble. Where'd it be? Near the top, most likely,
and it ought to be plain enough to see without squinting. He examined
what he could see of the top of the ship. The center was a raised bump,
round and wide. Bill felt his mouth twitch up with excitement as he saw
that it was not a perfect circle; off to the left it pushed out into a
sharp point, as though the circle were being pierced from within itself
by an arrow. He ran to the section of the edge to which this indicator
aimed, and found one of the ports directly in line with it. Softly he
called Trace, who came at the double.
"This is it?" asked the sergeant. "Can't see any difference. How do
you figure?" Bill told him, as he scanned the lip of the oval port for
signs of a door. Nothing. "Boost me up," said Bill.
Hafnagel held him on his shoulders, and Bill leaned into the port and
ran his educated fingers over the smooth surfaces therein. He found the
lock, a raised set of thumb-sized nodes and two bars that would not
move for him. Frantically he searched his mind for every trick he knew
of locks and bolts and all such mechanisms. He began trying various
manipulations, all his years of magic concentrating in the flying
fingers.
The metal plate slid without sound into the sidewall, leaving an
opening through which a diffused green glow poured out into his face.
Bill thought of the peculiar way he had moved the node and bar,
and node and bar.... In all the world, it was not likely that any
man except a trained magician would have touched them in the right
sequence. He puckered his lips and whistled without noise. "What if
I'd studied for the law, like Mother wanted me to?" he murmured. "Holy
cats!"
Taking the initiative, he hoisted himself from Hafnagel's shoulders and
wormed into the hole. The passage was slick without being actually
greased, and within seconds he rose to his feet in the first room of
the great disk.
Trace followed, then the others, Hafnagel coming last. They gathered in
a taut, apprehensive group, staring about them.
The room was empty of life. There was no sound in the saucer save for
their own quick breathing.