“Jammed, maybe?”
“No, I checked the manometer. There’s no pressure in the next section.”
Konski whistled again. “Looks like we’ll wait till they come for us. In that case– Keep the light on me, Mr. Knowles. Jack, help me out of this suit.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“If I can’t get a patch, I got to make one, Mr. Knowles. This suit is the only thing around.” I started to help him-a clumsy job since he had to keep his hand on the leak.
“You can stuff my shirt in the hole,” Knowles suggested.
“I’d as soon bail water with a fork. It’s got to be the suit; there’s nothing else around that will hold the pressure.” When he was free of the suit, he had me smooth out a portion of the back, then, as he snatched his hand away, I slapped the suit down over the leak. Konski promptly sat on it. “There,” he said happily, “we’ve got it corked. Nothing to do but wait.”
I started to ask him why he hadn’t just sat down on the leak while wearing the suit; then I realized that the seat of the suit was corrugated with insulation-he needed a smooth piece to seal on to the sticky stuff left by the balloons.
“Let me see your hand,” Knowles demanded.
“It’s nothing much.” But Knowles examined it anyway. I looked at it and got a little sick. He had a mark like a stigma on the palm, a bloody, oozing wound. Knowles made a compress of his handkerchief and then used mine to tie it in place.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Konski told us, then added, “we’ve got time to kill. How about a little pinochle?”
“With your cards?” asked Knowles.
“Why, Mr. Knowles! Well-never mind. It isn’t right for paymasters to gamble anyhow. Speaking of paymasters, you realize this is pressure work now, Mr. Knowles?”
“For a pound and four tenths differential?”
“I’m sure the union would take that view-in the circumstances.”
“Suppose I sit on the leak?”
“But the rate applies to helpers, too.”
“Okay, miser-triple-time it is.”
“That’s more like your own sweet nature, Mr. Knowles. I hope it’s a nice long wait.”
“How long a wait do you think it will be, Fatso?”
“Well, it shouldn’t take them more than an hour, even if they have to come all the way from Richardson.”
“Hmm … what makes you think they will be looking for us?”
“Huh? Doesn’t your office know where you are?”
“I’m afraid not. I told them I wouldn’t be back today.”
Konski thought about it. “I didn’t drop my time card. They’ll know I’m still inside.”
“Sure they will-tomorrow, when your card doesn’t show up at my office.”
“There’s that lunkhead on the gate. He’ll know he’s got three extra inside.”
“Provided he remembers to tell his relief. And provided he wasn’t caught in it, too.”
“Yes, I guess so,” Konski said thoughtfully. “Jack-better quit pumping that light. You just use up more oxygen.”
We sat there in the darkness for quite a long time, speculating about what had happened. Konski was sure it was an explosion; Knowles said that it put him in mind of a time when he had seen a freight rocket crash on take off. When the talk started to die out, Konski told some stories. I tried to tell one, but I was so nervous-so afraid, I should say-that I couldn’t remember the snapper. I wanted to scream.
After a long silence Konski said, “Jack, give us the light again. I got something figured out.”
“What is it?” Knowles asked.
“If we had a patch, you could put on my suit and go for help.”
“There’s no oxygen for the suit.”
“That’s why I mentioned you. You’re the smallest-there’ll be enough air in the suit itself to take you through the next section.”
“Well-okay. What are you going to use for a patch?”
“I’m sitting on it.”
“Huh?”
“This big broad, round thing I’m sitting on. I’ll take my pants off. If I push one of my hams against that hole, I’ll guarantee you it’ll be sealed tight.”
“But-No, Fats, it won’t do. Look what happened to your hand. You’d hemorrhage through your skin and bleed to death before I could get back.”