When the last red rays
stretched across the sandy desert, the three cadets folded back the
space-cloth covering and stood up. A soft evening breeze sprang up,
refreshing them a little, and though none of them was hungry, each boy
ate a light meal.
Tom opened the container of water again and measured out about an ounce
apiece.
"Moisten your tongue, and sip it slowly," ordered Tom.
Roger and Astro took their share of the water and dipped fingers in it,
wiping their lips and eyelids. They continued to do this until finally,
no longer able to resist, they took the precious water and swished it
around in their mouths before swallowing it.
They folded the space cloth, shouldered their packs, and after Tom had
checked the compass, started their long march toward their plotted
destination.
They had survived their first twenty-four hours in the barren wastes of
the New Sahara, with each boy acutely aware that there was at least a
week more of the same in front of them. The sky blackened, and soon
after Deimos rose and started climbing across the dark sky.
CHAPTER 21
"How much water left?" asked Astro thickly.
"Enough for one more drink apiece," Tom replied.
"And then what happens?" mumbled Roger through his cracked lips.
"You know what will happen, Roger--you know and I know and Tom knows,"
muttered Astro grimly.
For eight days they had been struggling across the blistering shifting
sands, walking by night, sweltering under the thin space cloth during
the day.
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