as being in command now. And he seemed to
agree, because he didn't protest against my high-handed way of
talking. Also, he didn't argue against a projected rashness that could
easily get us killed. Apparently he understood that our lives weren't
worth much to us as things were.

He smiled a little. "I'll stick around, Nolan. If you do manage to get
back to Earth, don't make the Martians sound too bad."

"I won't," I answered, troubled by an odd sense of regret.

Loosening that exit disc proved in the end to be no special trick.
Then we just waited for a lull in the activity in the tunnels around
us. We all put on our oxygen helmets, Miller included, for the
air-pressure here in our "cage" would drop as soon as the loosened
disc was dislodged. We put our shoulders against it and pushed. It
popped outward. Then the three of us, with Miller staying behind,
scrambled on hands and knees through the tunnel that lay before us.

* * * * *

A crazy kind of luck seemed to be with us. For one thing, we didn't
have to retrace our way along the complicated route by which we had
been brought down to our prison. In a minute we reached a wide tunnel
that slanted upward. A glassy rotary airlock worked by a simple
lever--for, of course, most of the city's air would be pressurized to
some extent for the Martians--led into it.

The main passage wasn't exactly deserted, but we traversed it in leaps
and bounds, taking advantage of the weak Martian gravity. Shapes
scattered before us, chirping and squeaking.

We reached the surface quickly. It was frigid night. We stumbled away
into it, taking cover under some lichenous bushes, while we looked
for the highway. It was there, plain to see, in the light of Phobos.
We dashed on toward it, across what seemed to be a planted field. A
white layer of ice-crystal mist flowed between and over those tough
cold-endured growths. For a minute, just as two shots rang out behind
us, we were concealed by it completely.

[Illustration]

I thought to myself that, to the Martians, we were like escaped tigers
or leopards--only worse. For a moment I felt that we had jumped from
the frying pan into the fire. But, as we reached the highway, my
spirits began to soar. Perhaps--only perhaps--I'd see my family again
before too long. There was traffic on the road, trains of great
soft-tired wagons, pulled by powered vehicles ahead. I wondered if,
like on Earth, much freight was