"I was using you for an example," Archer told him. "The same thing applies to each of us, and we should all be able to see that honesty is the only workable policy. There's one more little matter to be decided: the order in which we report. I think it would be fair to reverse the order of exposure, which would probably make it the order of observation. I was exposed last, so I'll report first, then Evans, then Stokely. "Now I'd suggest we take our positions, so we can kill these lights and let our eyes get used to the dark. There's only six to eight minutes to go." Archer turned and started off, half expecting some last-minute objection from Stokely. But the latter merely waited to assure himself by means of his flashlight that Archer and Evans were half-way to their appointed places, then started making his way toward his own. * * * * * The spot to which Archer had assigned himself turned out to be a jumble of loose rocks, complete with small and unpleasant denizens. He frowned. The footing would be very bad for dodging bullets, should matters turn out unsatisfactory to Stokely. As the latter reached his position, about 75 feet away, Archer called out: "Let's all face the ship, and don't anybody move after the lights are out, or you'll lose your orientation. Don't even shift your feet! Four to six minutes to go--but it could be sooner! I'm stripping down now." He switched off his flashlight, and after a moment, Stokely and Evans did likewise. The night closed in disconcertingly, the utter dark wiping out all visual cues and rendering one's very balance momentarily precarious. Archer removed the watch from his wrist and placed it in his pocket. Its face was luminous, and he was uncertain of its possible competition. He doffed his jacket and tied it about his hips, then unzipped his shirt to the waist and slipped it from his shoulders, tucking the sleeves into his belt. The air was too dry for a sudden shock of cold, but within seconds his outer flesh began to ache dully, and there was difficulty in expanding his chest sufficiently to breathe. He wondered how much of it a healthy man could stand before pneumonia became certain. Stokely was apparently trying to warm things up in his vicinity with a muttered string of vehement oaths, and Archer thought he heard a low groan from the direction of Evans. The black border of the horizon was becoming visible now against the lesser darkness of the sky. Directly before him was the outline of the ship, the control-room ports showing dim and ghostly above with the light seeping up from the waist compartment. Archer began turning his head back and forth at about ten-second intervals, staring into the blackness approximately 60 degrees each side of center, swinging his arms and flexing the muscles of his torso in a losing battle against the advancing numbness.