“But How, Kip?”
“Leave it to me. I’ll touch only the empty; if it doesn’t work, we’re no worse off. If it does, we’ve got it made.”
“How long will it take?”
“Ten minutes with luck. Thirty without.”
“No,” she decided.
“Now, Peewee, don’t be sil-”
“I’m not being silly! We aren’t safe until we get into the mountains. I can get that far. Then, when we no longer show up like a bug on a plate, we can rest and recharge my empty bottle.”
It made sense. “All right.”
“Can you go faster? If we reach the mountains before they miss us, I don’t think they’ll ever find us. If we don’t-”
“I can go faster. Except for these pesky bottles.”
“Oh.” She hesitated. “Do you want to throw one away?”
“Huh? Oh, no, no! But they throw me off balance. I’ve just missed a tumble a dozen times. Peewee, can you retie them so they don’t swing?”
“Oh. Sure.”
I had them hung around my neck and down my front-not smart but I had been hurried. Now Peewee lashed them firmly, still in front as my own bottles and the Mother Thing were on my back-no doubt she was finding it as crowded as Dollar Day. Peewee passed clothesline under my belt and around the yoke. She touched helmets. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Did you tie a square knot?”
She pulled her helmet away. A minute later she touched helmets again. “It was a granny,” she admitted in a small voice, “but it’s a square knot now.”
“Good. Tuck the ends in my belt so that I can’t trip, then we’ll mush. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I just wish I had salvaged my gum, old and tired as it was. My throat’s awful dry.”
“Drink some water. Not too much.”
“Kip! It’s not a nice joke.”
I stared. “Peewee-your suit hasn’t any water?”
“What? Don’t be silly.”
My jaw dropped. “But, baby,” I said helplessly, “why didn’t you fill your tank before we left?”
“What are you talking about? Does your suit have a water tank?”
I couldn’t answer. Peewee’s suit was for tourists-for those “scenic walks amidst incomparable grandeur on the ancient face of the Moon” that the ads promised. Guided walks, of course, not over a half-hour at a time-they wouldn’t put in a water tank; some tourist might choke, or bite the nipple off and half drown in his helmet, or some silly thing. Besides, it was cheaper.
I began to worry about other shortcomings that cheap-jack equipment might have-with Peewee’s life depending on it. “I’m sorry,” I said humbly. “Look, I’ll try to figure out some way to get water to you.”
“I doubt if you can. I can’t die of thirst in the time it’ll take us to get there, so quit worrying. I’m all right. I just wish I had my bubble gum. Ready?”
“Uh . . . ready.”
The hills were hardly more than giant folds in lava; we were soon through them, even though we had to take it cautiously over the very rough ground. Beyond them the ground looked natter than western Kansas, stretching out to a close horizon, with mountains sticking up beyond, glaring in the Sun and silhouetted against a black sky like cardboard cutouts. I tried to figure how far the horizon was, on a thousand-mile radius and a height of eye of six feet-and couldn’t do it in my head and wished for my slipstick. But it was awfully close, less than a mile.
Peewee let me overtake her, touched helmets. “Okay, Kip? All right, Mother Thing?”
“Sure.”
(“All right, dear.”)
“Kip, the course from the pass when they fetched me here was east eight degrees north. I heard them arguing and sneaked a peek at their map. So we go back west eight degrees south-that doesn’t count the jog to these hills but it’s close enough to find the pass. Okay?”
“Sounds swell.” I was impressed. “Peewee, were you an Indian scout once? Or Davy Crockett?”
“Pooh! Anybody can read a map”-she sounded pleased. “I want to check compasses. What bearing do you have on Earth?”
I said silently: Oscar, you’ve let me down. I’ve been cussing her suit for not having water-and you don’t have a compass.