byOld Cobber’s hand trembled slightly as he turned his tankbox so that his guns would point at the crew working outside.
Wilson, atop the white hill, watching the men clear away the ammonia snow drifts from the jets of the rocket, was the first to notice the challenging position of Cobber in his tankbox.
“Are you getting in or out of the airlock?” he radioed to Cobber. “Make up your mind.”
The old man’s lips were dry and his voice was hoarse as he spoke into the mouthpiece.
“I am going to blow up the ship,” he said.
Instantly the work of clearing the field stopped. Through the haze of poison air that surrounded the planet, Cobber could see them wheel into a semi-circle not more than thirty yards away from him and the airlock that he held.
Wilson’s tank rumbled a few feet forward from
