A SUDDEN flood of light that hurt the eyes . . . struggling consciousness returning to normal . . . a gradual fading away of that overpowering rigidity . . . in its place a flaccid limpness . . . an unsteadiness in the knees . . .
The harsh whirring overhead and underfoot was gone, the vehicle was now motionless. Hale blinked at the uncomfortable glare of light and painfully turned his head to investigate. It came from without, through the open doorway of the projectile. He faced his companion again, to find him going through the stages of recovering consciousness.
"Ray . . . Ray!" Hale seized him by both shoulders and shook him as vigorously as his own still feeble muscles and the narrow confines of their compartment would permit. "Wake up! . . . we're there!"
He poked his head out of the doorway and glanced hastily about. The shell was standing upright in a grooved metallic framework, into which it had apparently been designed to slide. They were not out in the open, as he had vaguely expected they would land, but in some chamber, large in dimensions, with a curved roof that met the grooved framework far overhead. A large circular hole permitted the frame to continue on beyond. Hale saw familiar blue sky through this opening.
"What . . . what's up?" came a weak query from Fletcher.
"Come on!" returned Hale in a whisper. "This is the last stop! . . . Here's where we get off!"
He swung out upon the crossed girders just within reach through the doorway, found his strength and assurance returning rapidly, and quickly clambered down to the floor. Fletcher followed as nimbly as he could, and presently they stood together, gazing wonder-eyed upward and all about them.
Apparently their projectile had executed some kind of flip-over in its passage through space, because it had slid neatly into its supporting frame bottom first. This structure was obviously fashioned of the same yellowish metal of which the shell itself was made. Looking about them, they saw that all parts of the chamber—floors, walls, ceilings, were also made of this foreign alloy. Up where the metallic walls met the curved roof, a circular row of large glassy globes sent down a steady glare of illumination, bathing the entire room in a flood of yellowish light.
"Nobody to meet us at the station," was Fletcher's dry comment, although his hand, held in readiness close to the pocket containing his automatic, somewhat belied his levity.
They glanced cautiously about the chamber. Besides themselves, there was not a living thing visible—human or otherwise.
"I guess they don't expect us," whispered Hale. Let's take a look around the place."
They tip-toed warily around the shell standing wedged in its supporting frame. The walls of the room were smooth and unbroken, except for some thin, longitudinal crevices which might or might not denote sliding panels similar to that on the projectile.
Suddenly Hale turned to Fletcher with a low exclamation. He inhaled deeply several times.
"It didn't occur to me before," he said, "but look! our breathing is perfectly normal—just like it is on earth. That means that this planet, or whatever it is, has about the same kind of atmosphere. That's lucky for us. And another thing. Ray! . . . weight . . . gravitation . . . you don't feet any extra heaviness or lightness, do you? Well then there's another circumstance in which this strange world we're on resembles our old earth."
"Never gave those matters any thought," whispered Fletcher. They continued their explorations. "Gosh," he added, "where do you think everybody is right now? Wouldn't you naturally suppose that they'd have a reception committee on hand to welcome us?"
Again Hale stopped suddenly in his tracks, a puzzled look in his eyes. His brow furrowed.
"Gee, I shouldn't be a bit surprised," he muttered, half to himself, "if that isn't the explanation after all . . ."
He turned eagerly to his friend. "I've got a notion it's that same old aiming difficulty in another form. By George, I'm almost sure of it! There's something wrong with the mechanism up in that shell. It doesn't travel true either coming or going. It’s not only erratic in aim, at times, but also in speed of flight. We probably arrived away ahead of schedule. That might explain the fact that there’s nobody around. They're probably busy somewhere else—maybe cooking up some more schemes for carrying out their campaign of intimidating the earth. But they'll be on the lookout for us pretty soon—that's dead certain! . . ."
Rounding the central framework, they came across a narrow opening in the wall which they had not observed from their previous position on the other side of the chamber. It led off at an angle into a dimly lighted passageway. A swift exchange of meaningful glances served to crystallize their course of action in an instant.
"Come on!" breathed Hale. He stepped through the opening. Fletcher was right behind him. They had not given a thought, at the outset of their mad adventure, of providing themselves with a flashlight, or in fact, with any manner of extra luggage, other than their firearms. So that they found themselves somewhat at a disadvantage here in the semidarkness of this corridor. But there was sufficient light to enable them to proceed safely, although with a slow and cautious progress.
Hale soon became conscious of a low, throbbing sound coming from behind the metallic walls on both sides of the passageway. With each chary step forward, the vibration became louder. Fletcher now showed that he was aware of it too.
"Some kind of machinery," he ventured. "Maybe their power-house or laboratory." Hale nodded.
They had now progressed about two hundred feet along the passage. Glancing back, Hale could see the doorway an oblong of yellow light. Just at that instant he observed a shadow flit across the area of illumination—then another and still a third.
He gripped his chum's arm and pointed back. Nothing to see now, save the lighted doorway and the bulk of the shell in its metal frame beyond.
Then a sudden commotion in the projectile chamber. Shouts, shrill cries, a confused hubbub of agitated voices, and the patter as of many feet.
"The reception committee!" whispered Fletcher . . . "A little late . . . but anxious to meet us just the same! . . . Shall we go back and show ourselves?"
"No! . . . wait!" was Hale's hushed reply. "We've no idea how they'd receive us . . . Better if we keep out
