t the edge of
Syrtis Major, the great equatorial wedge of blue-green growths on the
floor of a vanished ocean, first.

"Mitchell Storey is not around right now," a young man's voice informed
them. "He wandered off again, three days ago. Does it often... No--we
don't know where to reach him..."

Widening their beams over the short range of considerably less than four
thousand miles, they tried to call Mitch directly. No luck. Contact
should have been easy. But of course he could be wandering with his
Archer helmet-phone turned off.

Considering the reputation of Mars, Nelsen was a bit worried. But he had
a perhaps treacherous belief that Mitch was special enough to take care
of himself.

Ramos was impatient. "We'll hook old Mitch on our party line, sometime,
Frank," he said. "Right now we ought to get started. Space is still nice
and empty ahead, toward the Kuzaks and Pallastown. That condition might
not last... Gimp, are you honest-to-gosh set on going down to this
dried-up, museum-world?"

"Umhmm. See you soon, though," Gimp answered, grinning. "I'll leave my
bubb and my load of supplies up here on Phobos. Be back for it probably
in a week. And there'll be a freight-bubb cluster, or something, for me
to join up with, and follow you Out..."

Nelsen and Ramos left Gimp Hines before he boarded the winged skip-glide
rocket that would take him below. Parting words flew back and forth.
"See you... Take care... Over the Milky Way, suckers..."

Then they were standing off from Mars and its two moons. During the next
several Earth-days of time, they accelerated with all the power that
their bubb ionics could wring out of the sunshine, weakened now, with
distance. They knew about where to find the Kuzaks. But contact was
weeks off. When they were close enough, they could radio safely,
checking the exact position of Art's and Joe's supply post. And they
knew enough to steer clear of Ceres, the largest Asteroid, which was
Tovie-occupied. All the signs were good. They were well-armed and
watchful. They should have made the trip without trouble.

Ahead, dim still with distance, but glinting with a pinkish, metallic
shine which made it much brighter than it would otherwise have been, was
Pallas, which Ramos watched like a beacon.

"Eldorado," he said once, cockily, as if he remembered something from
the Spanish part of his background.

They got almost three-quarters across that unimaginable stretch of
emptiness before th