As for radar sightings-there were unexplained radar sightings before I was born.
Wormface could sit there, as close to Tombaugh Station as Dallas is to Fort Worth, and not fret, snug as a snake under house. Too many square miles, not enough people.
Too incredibly many square miles. . . . Our whole world was harsh bright cliffs and dark shadows and black sky, and endless putting one foot in front of the other.
But eventually we were going downhill oftener than up and at weary last we came to a turn where we could see out over a hot bright plain.
I There were mountains awfully far away; even from our height, up a thousand feet or so, they were beyond the horizon. I looked out over that plain, too dead beat to feel triumphant, then glanced at Earth and tried to estimate due west.
Peewee touched her helmet to mine. “There it is, Kip.”
“Where?” She pointed and I caught a glint on a silvery dome.
The Mother Thing trilled at my spine (“What is it, children?”)
“Tombaugh Station, Mother Thing.”
Her answer was wordless assurance that we were good children and that she had known that we could do it.
The station may have been ten miles away. Distances were hard to judge, what with that funny horizon and never anything for comparison- I didn’t even know how big the dome was. “Peewee, do we dare use radio?”
She turned and looked back. I did also; we were about as alone as could be. “Let’s risk it.”
“What frequency?”
“Same as before. Space operations. I think.”
So I tried. “Tombaugh Station. Come in, Tombaugh Station. Do you read me?” Then Peewee tried. I listened up and down the band I was equipped for. No luck.
I shifted to horn antenna, aiming at the glint of light. No answer.
“We’re wasting time, Peewee. Let’s start slogging.”
She turned slowly away. I could feel her disappointment-I had trem-bled with eagerness myself. I caught up with her and touched helmets. Don’t let it throw you, Peewee. They can’t listen all day for us to call. We see it, now we’ll walk it.”
“I know,” she said dully.
As we started down we lost sight of Tombaugh Station, not only from twists and turns but because we dropped it below the horizon. I kept calling as long as there seemed any hope, then shut it off to save breath and battery.
We were about halfway down the outer slope when Peewee slowed and stopped-sank to the ground and sat still.
I hurried to her. “Peewee!”
“Kip,” she said faintly, “could you go get somebody? Please? You know the way now. I’ll wait here. Please, Kip?”
“Peewee!” I said sharply. “Get up! You’ve got to keep moving.”
“I c- c- can’t!” She began to cry. “I’m so thirsty . . . and my legs-” She passed out.
“Peewee!” I shook her shoulder. “You can’t quit now! Mother Thing! -you tell her!”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Keep telling her, Mother Thing!” I flopped Peewee over and got to work. Hypoxia hits as fast as a jab on the button. I didn’t need to see her blood-color index to know it read DANGER; the gauges on her bottles told me. The oxygen bottles showed empty, the oxy-helium tank was practically so. I closed her exhaust valves, overrode her chin valve with the outside valve and let what was left in the oxy-helium bottle flow into her suit. When it started to swell I cut back the flow and barely cracked one exhaust valve. Not until then did I close stop valves and remove the empty bottle.
I found myself balked by a ridiculous thing.
Peewee had tied me too well; I couldn’t reach the knot! I could feel it with my left hand but couldn’t get my right hand around; the bottle on my front was in the way-and I couldn’t work the knot loose with one hand.
I made myself stop panicking. My knife-of course, my knife! It was an old scout knife with a loop to hang it from a belt, which was where it was. But the map hooks on Oscar’s belt were large for it and I had had to force it on. I twisted it until the loop broke.