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he
murmured, handing Tuck the glasses. "See what you see."
    At
first Tuck saw the same picture he had seen before—great black rocks, gorges,
sheer cliffs. Then his eyes caught something moving, far in the distance,
something that looked like a small black bug, crawling up through one of the
gorges, slowly but steadily moving toward the ship. Tuck blinked, stared
closer, then looked up in alarm. "That's a
half-track, or I'll eat my shirt."
    "That
won't be necessary. It's a half-track, all right. Looks as if
we're going to have visitors." He took the glasses again, scanning
the horizon. "I'd hoped to see the colony from here, but that ridge
obscures it. It's only about five miles away."
    "But why don't they fly over here,
instead of driving that clumsy thing?" Tuck took the glasses again, and
found the little machine crossing a level stretch of white, then disappearing
behind the nearest ridge of rock.
    "Half-track
is smarter, in the long run. It doesn't go very fast, but it gets here. The
colony probably has some jets, but they're not much good for anything but
exploration on this terrain. The half-track has power, and it's heavy, and it
can easily be sealed against the atmosphere."
    "But
what about the colony?"
    "It's sealed, too. Plexiglass dome. Not very big, either, considering that there are five
hundred people living in the colony, including wives and children. And
most of the mine shafts open right up inside the dome."
    Quite
suddenly the creeping half-track appeared, lumbering over the ridge of rocks
surrounding the ship, making its way slowly, carefully, down into the shallow
center of the crater where the ship stood. It was a strange-looking vehicle,
with fat pillow tires eighteen inches thick in front, and heavy caterpillar
treads on the back to drive it. It was exactly what they called it, a
half-tractor, and it wasn't nearly so small as it had looked. The whole top
part was sealed in with a clear plastic bubble, rounding out over the top where
a single figure sat, guiding the car in its path. Tuck squinted, but the dull
bluish sunlight reflected from the plastic, and he could not get a clear view.
    The pilot stuck his head in the door.
"Shall I let him aboard? We ran the crane out when we first landed—"
    "Better
let him come. If we're to have a welcoming committee, we might as well get
things off to a good start. This may be one of Anson Torm's men."
    Tuck
frowned, watching the half-track move down near the ship and grind to a halt.
"Don't you think we'd better have guns ready?" he asked. "You
never can tell—"
    "I'll
leave that up to the crewmen. I want to make arrangements for living quarters
in the colony, and see what I can find out at the start about the trouble we've
been hearing about. Probably it would be best to be as friendly as
possible."
    The
dome of the half-track suddenly sprang open, and a curious-looking figure
struggled out, clumsy in the great padded pressure suit that covered his body.
A heavy transparent dome covered the man's head, and he stopped momentarily
when he reached the ground to seal the half-track up tightly again. Then he
moved toward the ship, and in a moment Tuck heard the crane winches hum with
the unaccustomed strain as the man was hauled up to the space-lock.
    Moments later the lock opened, and a man
walked in, his transparent helmet thrown back, his body still clad in the
thickly padded space suit. Tuck stared at the man, hardly believing what he
saw. He was huge, over six feet tall. Even without the suit he would have
looked like a powerfully built man. His hair was thick and sandy, and his
cheeks were pale; shaggy brown eyebrows jutted out over ice-blue eyes.
    For
a long moment the stranger stared coldly at the Colonel and Tuck; then his eyes
flashed, and he looked straight at the Colonel. "My name is Anson Torm ," he said, in a rich bass voice. "What's
yours?"
    "Benedict—Robert Benedict. This is my son, Tuck." The Colonel
stepped forward, offering his hand. "Take off