Something in her tone seemed to cut a path through the heat-ridden lethargy of their minds, for the men staggered to their feet, hands fumbling for the testing buttons. Mark found his, and his eyes darted to the tiny dial inside his helmet. The pointer swung and registered _one hour_. Frantically he pressed the button again; once more the pointer inexorably indicated the same period of time. "One hour!" he breathed, stunned. That was barely a third of the time it would take to return to the Base! Out of the dancing mirage before him the alabaster face of Aladdian seemed to float and smile. With infinite, pain-laden regret Mark realized that unless a miracle happened he would never see her again, and now for the first time it dawned on him how much he wanted to. Around him the men were milling in confusion, panic-stricken. Their few hours' stay at the Base had been like a brief taste of heaven, and life had become precious once more. "All of us can't get back," the Commander was saying. "But there's enough oxygen among us to permit seven, at most eight, to do so. I'm willing to draw lots with the rest of you. But decide quickly! Every instant is precious!" "No!" a man screamed hysterically, near the breaking point. "I'd rather take my chances...." His voice ended in a hoarse sob. Then a strange thing happened. Ernest Carston, white-faced and unsteady, stepped forward. "You can take my supply, Commander Cynthia," he offered. "You need not draw lots; let the men do that." She waved him aside and shook her head, but her eyes softened gratefully. She glanced at the teletimer at her wrist. "I will give you men just thirty seconds to make your decision; otherwise I will be forced to make it." But from the group came no decision, only sullen argument and frantic babbling. Some of them measured the distance between them and the girl, eying hungrily the atom-blast guns at either side of her wrist. "What a woman!" Carston murmured to himself, lost in admiration. But Mark heard him. "Yes, she is magnificent," he agreed in a dry croak. "A pity all that courage and...." He checked himself and fell dully silent again. It was then that Mark saw something or thought he did, far away, shimmering through the dancing heat. He wiped the sparkling dust from his visiplate and strained his eyes desperately, praying that it was not a mirage. He clutched at Carston and pointed. "The hills ... are those the hills? _Our hills?_" Carston nodded dumbly. At last he managed to croak, "Yes, but the entrance is miles away ... at the other end." "But there may be a chance! Remember Aladdian, the corridors--a honeycomb of caverns? Commander!" Mark turned up his radio-phone, his voice drowning out the babble of the men. "How far is that range of hills, Commander?" She followed his pointing arm. "A little less than an hour, at its closest point."