An explosion suddenly lit up the jagged rock face, and a flaming section of the hotel spewed outward, along with tables, chairs, and other objects that were sucked into the thin atmosphere.

The flames went out immediately, but debris continued to fly out. The shock wave jarred the monorail and would have knocked them out of their seats, if not for their restraints. Lights flickered in the car, and the monorail screeched to a bumpy halt.

The oxygen wasn’t gone yet, but Gray was already panting for breath.

“Stay calm,” ordered Bester. “Whatever you do, don’t take your restraints off. What’s the matter with this thing?”

He pounded on the panel over his head, and a dozen oxygen masks fell out, hanging from the ceiling like the tentacles of some bloated jellyfish. Swift changes in air pressure made papers and cups fly around the room.

“Put a mask on,” ordered Bester, although Gray already had four of them in his hands.

They secured their oxygen masks and waited in the flickering lights. Gray felt a tug at his clothing, and the hair on his arms and neck seemed to rise with the drying of the air. They were going to be in oxygenless, 200-degree heat in a few minutes, he thought in a panic! He glanced at the gaping hole in the Royal Tharsis Lodge, and he saw things still flying out of it—things that might be human bodies! Or Centauri bodies. The voices started to bombard his head, and Gray closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing.

Bester ripped his mask off and sniffed the air. “Stay in your seat,” he barked. “That is an order. I am going to loosen my restraints and try to get this thing into reverse.”

Gray lifted the lip of his mask. “No, Mr. Bester! If the air gets sucked out, you might, too!”

“Do you think I want to sit here and bake to death?” asked Bester, unsnapping his restraints. He sprang to his feet and ripped out an entire bank of panels over his head. “Although,” he remarked, “dying of dehydration is supposed to be one of the more pleasant forms of death.”