Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

there’s an open cone on top, and this pile of sand down below. The stuff trickled

down through a hole in the roof and piled up until it choked the hole.”

“Where does that get you?”

“Well, if we dug the stuff away we could clear the hole.”

“It would keep sifting down.”

“No, it wouldn’t, it would reach a point where there wasn’t enough dust

close by to sift down any further- there would still be a hole.”

Sam considered it. “Maybe. But when you tried to

climb up it would collapse back on you. That’s the bad part about a morning glory,

Bruce; you can’t get a foothold.”

“The dickens I can’t! If I can’t climb a slope on skis without collapsing

it, when I’ve got my wits about me and am really trying, why, you can have my

reserve air bottle.”

Sam chuckled. “Don’t be hasty. I might hold you to it. Anyhow,” he added, “I

can’t climb it.”

“Once I get my feet on the level, I’ll pull you out like a cork, even if

you’re buried. Time’s a-wastin’.” Bruce got busy.

Using a ski as a shovel he nibbled at the giant pile. Every so often it

would collapse down on him. It did not discourage him; Bruce knew that many yards of

the stuff would have to fall and be moved back before the hole would show.

Presently he moved Sam over to the freshly moved waste. From there Sam held

the light; the work went faster. Bruce began to sweat. After a while he had to

switch air bottles; he sucked on his water tube and ate a march ration before

getting back to work.

He began to see the hole opening above him. A great pile collapsed on him;

he backed out, looked up, then went to Sam. “Turn out the light!”

There was no doubt; a glimmer of light filtered down. Bruce found himself

pounding Sam and shouting. He stopped and said, “Sam, old boy, did lever say what

patrol I’m from?”

“No. Why?”

“Badger Patrol. Watch me dig!” He tore into it. Shortly sunlight poured into

the hole and reflected dimly around the cavern. Bruce shoveled until he could see a

straight rise from the base of the pile clear to the edge of the morning glory high

above them. He decided that the opening was wide enough to tackle.

He hitched himself to Sam with the full length of all the glass ropes and

then made a bundle of Sam’s pack save air and water bottles, tied a bowline on Sam’s

uninjured foot, using the manila line and secured the bundle to the end of that

line. He planned to drag Sam out first, then the equipment. Finished, he bound on

skis.

Bruce touched helmets. “This is it, pal. Keep the line clear of the sand.”

Sam grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Bruce-if we don’t make it, I just want to say that you’re all right.”

“Uh . . . oh, forget it. We’ll make it.” He started up. A herringbone step

suited the convex approach to the hole. As Bruce neared the opening he shifted to

side-step to fit the narrow passage and the concave shape of the morning glory

above. He inched up, transferring his weight smoothly and gradually, and not

remaining in one spot too long. At last his head, then his whole body, were in

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sunshine; he was starting up the morning glory itself.

He stopped, uncertain what to do. There was a ridge above him, where the

flakes had broken loose when he had shoveled away their support. The break was much

too steep to climb, obviously unstable. He paused only a moment as he could feel his

skis sinking in; he went forward in half side-step, intending to traverse past the

unstable formation.

The tow line defeated him. When Bruce moved sideways, the line had to turn a

corner at the neck of the hole. It brushed and then cut into the soft stuff. Bruce

felt his skis slipping backwards; with cautious haste he started to climb, tried to

ride the slipping mass and keep above it. He struggled as the flakes poured over his