He could not understand his own state of well being, the lack of
hunger and thirst.
There were two possible explanations for it all. One was that the aliens
still lived here and for some reason had come to his aid. The other was
that he stood in a place where robot machinery worked, though those who
had set it up were no longer there. It was difficult to separate his
memory of the half-buried globe he had seen from his sickness of that
moment. Yet he knew that he had climbed and crawled through emptiness,
neither seeing nor hearing any other life. Now Ross restlessly paced up
and down, seeking the door through which he must have come, but there
was not even a line to betray such an opening.
"I want out," he said aloud, standing in the center of the cramped room,
his fists planted on his hips, his eyes still searching for the vanished
door. He had tapped, he had pushed, he had tried every possible way to
find it. If he could only remember how he had come in! But all he could
recall was leaning against a wall which moved inward and allowed him to
fall.
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