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standard
procedure after a space landing for the ship to be surrounded by
rescue and cleanup personnel. Even though they couldn't see out, or
communicate with anything beyond the ship, they should at least be
able to hear something from outside. If nothing else, a NASA worker
should have knocked on the hatch by now just to see if they could
get a reply from the crew.
    "If we're not on the ground ... we're on something," Chris concluded. He worked his way back to the hatch again, and despite
Owen's protests, Terry pulled himself up to stand.
    Trisha stood, satisfied that everything that could be done to secure
the ship had been done. She quickly moved to a first-aid locker and
retrieved a few supplies.
    "The flight surgeon can patch us up," Terry said, refusing Trisha's
help.
    Chris squinted, trying to see through the tiny window in the
hatch, though it was dark.

    "What do you see?" Terry asked, massaging a bruise on his
wrist.
    Chris shook his head. "It's just dark." He turned. "Beech?"
    Owen stepped over to his console and examined it. "I'm reading oxygen outside," he said with a heaviness in his voice as Trisha
poured something onto a cut on the back of his neck. "Atmosphere
is clear of chemical toxins."
    Chris looked around, doubt coloring his features. Landing spacecraft were known to give off various dangerous chemicals immediately
upon landing that couldn't be safely breathed. If the air was already
clear of those contaminants, then the four of them had been unconscious for a few hours, at least. He waited until Trisha met his gaze,
his unspoken question answered with a nod.
    "We can't stay here," he concluded. "The ship is too hot, and this
smoke isn't good for our lungs. I don't think we have anything to lose
by opening the hatch. Agreed?"
    There were nods all around.
    Chris clutched the mechanism that released the hatch. A loud
hiss pierced the air as the cabin depressurized to match the outside
atmosphere, and he felt his ears pop. Just ahead was a second door,
the outer door. He moved to it, unlatched and pushed the door
downward until it opened....
    He was immediately bathed in intensely bright light.
    It was so bright that Terry, Trisha, and Owen put their hands up
to block the light from their eyes.
    Without a word, Chris stepped from the ship onto the outer hatch,
which had folded down into a stepladder. The others soon joined
him, standing on the steps just outside the ship.
    They scanned the horizon in all directions.
    The ship had come to rest on the long runway at Kennedy Space
Center. But their arrival couldn't be called a landing.
    Trisha was the first to turn back and examine the craft. The others followed her, and Chris' blood turned to ice. The Ares' command module was unrecognizable-charred and disfigured, her ceramic
outer tiles and windows burned completely black, her two wings
withered and torn. The tail fin was gone. All that was left of the
mighty rocket ship that carried them to another planet was a tragic
heap, an utterly ruined mass of black, burning metal.

    Chris shook his head. "We shouldn't have survived that."
    "We're alive, man," said Terry. `And we're home. That's enough
for me."
    Owen's eyebrows were furrowed as he scanned their surroundings. "Has anyone else noticed that `home' is ... awfully quiet?"
    The others examined the landscape. It was true. There was nothing moving, no people or rescue vehicles. In the distance, there were
no cars driving along the roads of Kennedy Space Center. From the
sun's position overhead, it was late morning, but it was as if no one on
the planet had noticed a flaming rocket ship falling out of the sky.
    Chris stood up straighter, blocking out the bright sunlight with
his hand and squinting into the distance. "They should have sent the
ferry to retrieve the ship," he said. "You think we're giving off too
much radiation?"
    "Maybe they didn't think there was anything left of the ship to
retrieve," suggested