I was too tired to argue; I chinned the valve three or four times, felt a blast blistering my face.
(“I’m stepping up the stroke. Warmer indeed! Hund’d nine . . . hund’d ten . . . hun’leven . . . hun’twelve-pick it up!”)
At two hundred I said I would just have to rest.
(“No, you don’t!”)
“But I’ve got to. Just a little while.”
(“Like that, uh? You know what happens. What’s Peewee goin’ to do? She’s in there, waiting. She’s already scared because you’re late. What’s she goin’ to do? Answer me!”)
“Uh . . . she’s going to try to wear Tim’s suit.”
(“Right! In case of duplicate answers the prize goes to the one postmarked first. How far will she get? You tell me.”)
“Uh … to the mouth of the tunnel, I guess. Then the wind will get her.”
(“My opinion exactly. Then we’ll have the whole family together. You, me, the Mother Thing, Peewee. Cozy. A family of stiffs.”)
“But-”
(“So start slugging, brother. Slug . . . slug . . . slug . . . slug . . . tw’und’d five . . . two’und’d six . . . tw’und’d sev’n’-“)
I don’t remember falling off. I don’t even know what the “snow” felt like. I just remember being glad that the dreadful counting was over and I could rest.
But Oscar wouldn’t let me. (“Kip! Kip! Get up! Climb back on the straight and narrow.”)
“Go ‘way.”
(“I can’t go away. I wish I could. Right in front of you. Grab the edge and scramble up. It’s only a little farther now.”)
I managed to raise my head, saw the edge of the walkway in the light of my headlamp about two feet above my head. I sank back. “It’s too high,” I said listlessly. “Oscar, I think we’ve had it.”
He snorted. (“So? Who was it, just the other day, cussed out a little bitty girl who was too tired to get up? ‘Commander Comet,’ wasn’t it? Did I get the name right? The ‘Scourge of the Spaceways’ … the no- good lazy sky tramp. ‘Have Space Suit-Will Travel.’ Before you go to sleep, Commander, can I have your autograph! I’ve never met a real live space pirate before . . . one that goes around hijacking ships and kidnapping little girls.”)
“That’s not fair!”
(“Okay, okay, I know when I’m not wanted. But just one thing before I leave: she’s got more guts in her little finger than you have in your whole body-you lying, fat, lazy swine! Good-bye. Don’t wait up.”)
“Oscar! Don’t leave me!”
(“Eh? You want help?”)
“Yes!”
(“Well, if it’s too high to reach, grab your hammer and hook it over the edge. Pull yourself up.”)
I blinked. Maybe it would work. I reached down, decided I had the hammer even though I couldn’t feel it, got it loose. Using both hands I hooked it over the edge above me. I pulled.
That silly hammer broke just like the line. Tool steel-and it went to pieces as if it had been cast out of type slugs.
That made me mad. I heaved myself to a sitting position, got both elbows on the edge, and struggled and groaned and burst into fiery sweat -and rolled over onto the road surface.
(“That’s my boy! Never mind counting, just crawl toward the light!”)
The tunnel wavered in front of me. I couldn’t get my breath, so I kicked the chin valve.
Nothing happened.
“Oscar! The chin valve is stuck!” I tried again.
Oscar was very slow in answering. (“No, pal, the valve isn’t stuck. Your air hoses have frozen up. I guess that last batch wasn’t as dry as it could have been.”)
“I haven’t any air!”
Again he was slow. But he answered firmly, (“Yes, you have. You’ve got a whole suit full. Plenty for the few feet left.”)
“I’ll never make it.”
(“A few feet, only. There’s the Mother Thing, right ahead of you. Keep moving.”)
I raised my head and, sure enough, there she was. I kept crawling, while she got bigger and bigger. Finally I said, “Oscar . . . this is as far as I go.”