Tom measured out three small
cups of Martian water.
"After we eat," suggested Roger, "I think we ought to take a look around
outside and try to set up an identification signal."
"That's a good idea," said Tom, "but don't you think the ship itself is
big enough for that?"
"Yeah," answered Roger, "I guess you're right."
"Boy!" said Astro. "We sure are lucky to still be able to argue."
"That's about all you can call it. Luck! Spaceman's luck!" said Tom.
"The only reason I can figure why we didn't wind up as permanent part of
the scenery around here is because of the course we were on."
"How do you figure that?" asked Astro.
"Luckily--and I _mean_ luckily, we were on a course that took us smack
onto the surface of Mars. And our speed was great enough to resist the
gravity pull of the planet, keeping us horizontal with the surface of
the desert. We skidded in like a kid does on a sled, instead of coming
in on our nose!"
"Well, blast my jets!" said Astro softly.
"In that case," said Roger, "we must have left a pretty long skid mark
in back of us!"
"That should be easy to see when the jet scouts come looking for us,"
commented Astro.
"I wonder if we could rig up some sort of emergency signal so we could
send out a relative position?"
"How are you going to get the position?" asked Astro.
"I can give you some sort of position as soon as I get outside and take
a sight on the sun," replied Roger.
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