"
"You want to eat now?" asked Astro.
Tom and Roger laughed. "I'm not hungry, but you go ahead," said Tom. "I
know that appetite of yours won't wait."
"I'm not too hungry either," said Roger. "Go ahead, you clobber-headed
juice jockey."
Astro grinned sheepishly, and opening one of the containers of food,
quickly wolfed down a breakfast of smoked Venusian fatfish.
Tom and Roger began spreading the space cloth on the sand that was
already hot to the touch. Anchoring the four corners in the sand with
the emergency lights and one of Tom's boots, they propped up the center
with the food packs, one on top of the other. A crude tent was the
result and both boys crawled in under, sprawling on the sand. Astro
finished eating, lay down beside his two unit-mates, and in a moment the
three cadets were sound asleep.
The sun climbed steadily over the desert while the _Polaris_ unit slept.
With each hour, the heat of the desert rose, climbing past the hundred
mark, reaching one hundred and twenty, then one hundred and thirty-five
degrees.
Tom woke up with a start. He felt as if he were inside a blazing
furnace. He rolled over and saw Astro and Roger still asleep, sweat
pouring off them in small rivulets. He started to wake them, but decided
against it and just lay still under the thin sheet of space cloth that
protected him from the sun.
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