struck a pocket of Martian Sunbursts. Fixed up a deal with a ship's cargo master to smuggle us back to Earth if we turned your stuff over to him. He jetted us out here. Left a while ago." The fat man itched frantically as he answered her. They all itched, Leeda noticed. It took a long time on Mars before anyone became used to the dust that penetrated even the Protecto-suits. It produced an agony that demanded attention; followed by festering sores.

"You talk too much, Fatso," the tall one said angrily.

"What's the difference, Rick?" Fatso said philosophically. "Won't do her any good."

Rick turned to Leeda. "At least you know the score. Do you want to tell us where the stuff is, or are you going to make it tough on yourself?"

Eyes like a Razor-back Sand Lizard, Leeda thought. "Out by our diggings," she answered readily. His eyes moved to the plastic bubble-house that she and Terry had called home when they weren't digging. "Search the place if you don't believe me," she suggested. "We never brought any of them back here with us. We cached them in the cave until we were ready to go home."

"Then you did strike it?" the young man interrupted eagerly.

She nodded.

Rick turned to the young man. "Search the house, Jocco. She may be lying."

The Sand Vulture wheeled and made a few low exploratory swoops toward them as they waited for Jocco. Leeda automatically checked her clothing to be sure she was completely covered. If that barbed tail touched the skin, death came—slow, agonizing, sure.

Jocco came back. "Emptier than interstellar space."

Holstering his gun, Rick started off saying, "Let's go. And no funny stuff."

Leeda smiled ironically and remained where she was. "It's not that easy. The cave is four walking days away."

Startled, Fatso groaned. "Where's your sand-mobile?"

"Broken down at the diggings. We came back to get parts."

Fatso and Jocco cussed loudly. Rick quieted them. "Get the parts," he told Leeda.

"You bring any water?" she asked.

 Prev. P 2/10 next