It was a
battle of endurance that would wring the last drop of moisture
mercilessly from the body, until it became a dry, brittle husk.
"Getting pretty close to sundown," said Tom finally. He stood beside the
open port and shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun, now slowly
sinking below the Martian horizon.
"I guess we'd better get going," said Roger. "All set, Astro?"
"Ready, Roger," answered the Venusian.
The three boys dressed and arranged the food packs on their backs. Tom
carried the remainder of the Martian water, two quart plastic
containers, and a six-yard square of space cloth, an extremely durable
flyweight fabric that would serve as protection from the sun during the
rest stop of the day. Roger and Astro carried the food in compact packs
on their backs. Each boy wore a makeshift hat of space cloth, along with
space goggles, a clear sheet of colored plastic that fitted snugly
across the face. All three carried emergency lights salvaged from the
wrecked ship.
Tom walked out away from the ship several hundred yards and studied his
pocket compass. He held it steady for a moment, watching the needle
swing around. He turned and walked slowly still watching the needle of
the compass. He waited for it to steady again, then turned back to Roger
and Astro who stood watching from the window port.
"This is the way." Tom pointed away from the ship.
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