Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

He would have to try radio. He wasn’t hopeful, as they had heard nothing

even from the cliff. Still, he must try- He glanced at Sam’s blood-oxygen reading,

then climbed the rubble, extended his antenna and tried. “M’aidez!” he called.

“Help! Does anybody hear me?” He tried again.

And again.

When he saw Sam move he hurried back. Sam was sitting up and feeling his

left knee. Bruce touched helmets. “Sam, are you all right?”

“Huh? This leg won’t work right.”

“Is it broken?”

“How do I know? Turn on your radio.”

“It is on. Yours is busted.”

“Huh? How’d that happen?”

“When you fell.”

“Fell?”

Bruce pointed. “Don’t you remember?”

Sam stared at the cliff. “Uh, I don’t know. Say, this thing hurts like

mischief. Where’s the rest of the troop?”

Bruce said slowly, “We’re out by ourselves, Sam. Remember?”

Sam frowned. “I guess so. Bruce, we’ve got to get out of here! Help me get

my skis on.”

“Do you think you can ski with that knee?”

“I’ve got to.” Bruce lifted him to his feet, then bound a ski to the injured

leg while Sam balanced on the other. But when Sam tried shifting his weight he

collapsed-and fainted.

Bruce gave him air and noted that the blood-oxygen reading was still okay.

He untangled the ski, straightened out Sam’s legs, and waited. When Sam’s eyes

fluttered he touched helmets. “Sam, can you understand me?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

~You,,can’t stay on your feet. I’ll carry you.”

No.

“What do you mean, ‘No’?”

“No good. Rig a toboggan.” He closed his eyes.

Bruce laid Sam’s skis side by side. Two steel rods were clipped to the tail

of each ski; he saw how they were meant to be used. Slide a rod through four ring

studs, two on each ski; snap a catch-so! Fit the other rods. Remove bindings-the

skis made a passable narrow toboggan.

He removed Sam’s pack, switched his bottles around in front and told him to

hold them. “I’m going to move you. Easy, now!” The space-suited form hung over the

edges, but there was no help for it. He found he could thread a rope under the rods

and lash his patient down. Sam’s pack he tied on top.

He made a hitch by tying a line to the holes in the tips of the skis; there

was a long piece left over. He said to Sam, “I’ll tie this to my arm. If you want

anything, just jerk.”

Okay.

“Here we go.” Bruce put on his skis, brought the hitch up to his armpits and

ducked his head through, forming a harness. He grasped his ski poles and set out to

the south, parallel to the cliff.

The toboggan drag steadied him; he settled down to covering miles. Earth was

shut off by the cliff; the Sun gave him no estimate of hour. There was nothing but

blackness, stars, the blazing Sun, a burning desert underfoot, and the towering

cliff-nothing but silence and the urgency to get back to base.

Something jerked his arm. It scared him before he accounted for it. He went

back to the toboggan. “What is it, Sam?”

“I can’t stand it. It’s too hot.” The boy’s face was white and

sweat-covered.

Bruce gave him a shot of air, then thought about it. There was an emergency

shelter in Sam’s pack, just a rolled-up awning with a collapsible frame. Fifteen

Page 124

minutes later he was ready to move. One awning support was tied upright to the sole

of one of Sam’s boots; the other Bruce had bent and wedged under Sam’s shoulders.

The contraption looked ready to fall apart but it held. “There! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Look, Bruce, I think my knee is all right now. Let me try it.”

Bruce felt out the knee through the suit. It was twice the size of its mate;

he could feel Sam wince. He touched helmets. “You’re full of hop, chum. Relax.”

Bruce got back into harness.

Hours later, Bruce came across tracks. They swung in from northeast, turned

and paralleled the hills. He stopped and told Sam.

“Say, Sam, how can I tell how old they are?”

“You can’t. A track fifty years old looks as fresh as a new one.