Quickly he entered the starboard lock; stood peering down. He was dropping fast. Above him now he saw hosts of vague shapes, heard the whine of Martian 'copter blades cutting the air. The metal under his fingers was growing hot. He counted to five, slowly ... and leaped outward. It may have been thirty feet--or fifty. Ketrik only knew that he was plummeting downward. He let his muscles go limp, and just in time. He hit the sand hard, rolled over once and knew that no bones were broken. Above him he saw the pale glow of heat-beams, saw the hull of his spacer growing cherry-red ... and suddenly realized his danger. He staggered up, went ploughing across the desert, still mentally counting off the seconds ... "eight ... nine ... ten...." The explosion lighted the sky for a hell-filled moment. Ketrik went hurling forward, to land head foremost into the sand. Parts of his ship came thudding down about him. One fragment, red-hot, landed against his arm and burned it severely. Other fragments scattered over a wide area. Ketrik was cursing now, unconsciously using the mono-syllabic Martian in which he had versed himself. Then it was all over. Ketrik was glad of only one thing. His ship was gone, but the Frequency Tuner had gone with it! The Martians would never get that priceless power unit. He rolled to his back and looked up. It was not over! A few 'copters were descending to view the wreckage--or perhaps to look for him. Had they seen him jump? Powerful searchlights began criss-crossing the area. Again he staggered up, went forward into darkness. Every muscle ached, but his eyes were alert for the beams. Whenever one passed near him, he flattened into the sand. After untold agonies, he judged that he was fairly safe. Far behind, he heard the drift of excited Martian voices. He didn't rest. He kept going away from those voices. They might still be looking for him. He was utterly confused in his direction now. He could be going toward Turibek, or toward K'Mari Range ... or out into the vast wilderness to the south. One of those dark storms was sweeping up, and Deimos was hidden. Soon the sharp sand began to pelt him. Ketrik turned up his collar and ploughed on. He remembered that those storms usually, but not always, came up from the south. He guided his direction by that, and plunged on. "At least one thing's settled," he muttered after a while. "I'm relieved of the problem of hiding my ship!" III Through adventures on every far-flung world, every barren satellite, Ketrik's uncanny "time-awareness" had never failed him. It didn't now. He knew that it was precisely one hour and twenty minutes later when he saw the flickering lights, so he couldn't have come far. He saw the lights but once, quite a distance ahead and low against the ground. Then they were gone as the sand rose in renewed fury.