"It's better than just sitting here."

"I think you'll also be holding your breath. I doubt you could breathe, even with the mask."

"Who's driving the bus?" asked Charlie.

"I guess we're taking our chances now," Evelyn said. "We have a more immediate problem." She looked at Charlie. "But we do need you to go. We talked about it, and Saber wanted to try it, but there's the problem of getting through the hatch."

Charlie surveyed the other males. They were both on the frail side. Two women, and good old Charlie Haskell at six-four. "So we need a little muscle." Ordinarily, Charlie would have made a joke of it, but neither the smile nor the tone would come.

"That's right," said Saber. "We just have to get you some better equipment. But first, let me show you where the spare suit is." She drew a map of C deck, and marked off the middle of three storage cabinets. "Just pull the latch and it'll open. It comes in two pieces: the suit and the helmet. Don't forget the helmet, right?"

Charlie frowned, feeling insulted.

"Charlie," said Evelyn, "Things are going to fog up on you out there. Both your vision and your brain. It's not going to be a milk run."

"Why don't I try getting into the p-suit down there instead of bringing it back?"

"Too complicated and too dangerous," said Evelyn. "Let's keep it simple. Just bring it back."

"Okay, now let's try to give ourselves a chance," said Saber. She reached up, punched the overhead, and shook out one of the two remaining oxygen tanks.

"I've already got one," said Charlie.

"You've got a used one. Everything we have is running on this, Mr. Vice President. Let's get you a fresh tank."

Charlie decided he liked her. She was under more pressure than anybody, she'd just lost her captain, but she was keeping her composure. Tough woman. "Okay," he said.

"The stored suit should be all right. But there's a chance that whatever tore up the compartment also got the suit. If it did, you'll have to try to strip the one Bigfoot's wearing."

"That doesn't sound easy."

"It won't be."

"Better idea," said Evelyn. "If the suit's damaged, forget it. It'll probably be easier just to repair the oxygen line than try to get the suit off Bigfoot."

"That makes sense," said Saber. She handed him a roll of duct tape. "Take it with you."

"Duct tape? I'm going to fix the leak with duct tape?"

"Best thing we've got. Anyway, Mr. Vice President, if it's more complicated than that, we're dead." She held out the gray suit, which wasn't exactly a jumpsuit but rather a top and a pair of leggings. Apparently made of Spandex. She measured them against him, adjusted them, and tried again. "This is going to be tight, but maybe that's just as well."

"What is it?" asked Charlie.

"It's a g-suit. It's mine, and it hasn't been washed and I apologize. It's underwear for a p-suit." She must have seen something in his face. "I'm serious," she said. "Look, air and temperature aren't the only problems. Your capillaries are going to burst. They'll go pretty quickly after you get outside. As that happens, you'll develop massive bruising. Enough of that and you're dead."

"How long's it take?"

"Don't know. I didn't pay enough attention because I never expected to go out without a suit. Or to send anyone else out. But not long, okay? The g-suit helps keep blood from pooling in the extremities under high g-forces. It also acts as a coolant. Which you're going to need."

Charlie looked at them doubtfully.

"Do it," said Evelyn.

"Not much respect here for the vice president," he told her. But he retreated to the washroom, climbed into the suit, and zippered up. It was tight. He pulled his clothes back on and returned to the cabin.

Evelyn inspected it. "Not much of a space suit," she said. There were no gloves, so the chaplain contributed a flannel shirt, which they tore up and taped to his hands. Saber produced a uniform jacket, cut it into strips, wrapped them around Charlie's feet, and secured them with tape.

She heard warning beeps from the flight deck and sent them all back to their seats while she hurried back up the ladder. Charlie sat down and buckled in. The engine roared to life and Saber moved them to a new course. Then she came back, carrying a wrench, a torch, and a pair of screwdrivers, which she set down beside the duct tape.

She looked at him and smiled. "Just the g-suit," she said. "You won't need your clothes."

"They'll help me keep warm," he protested.

"Keeping warm won't be a problem, Mr. Vice President. Take my word." Charlie, embarrassed, stripped off his shirt and stepped out of his trousers. Neither he nor Saber wore their oxygen masks during the preparations for the EVA, and the deadness of the air in the cabin spurred him on.

Saber ran her hands over the Spandex and approved. "We need some more parts," she said. She went into the galley and rummaged around in the cabinets and refrigerator. She came back with a straw and a plastic storage bag.

Charlie watched curiously as she emptied the bag of several pounds of wrapped lunch meat, held it over his head, and pulled it down. "A little snug," she said, "but it should work."

Evelyn's eyes lit up. "Saber," she said, seizing the duct tape, "you're a genius."

"What?" asked Charlie.

They removed the bag and strapped the air tank to his back.

"Okay." Saber nodded at her handiwork. "Look out for the sunlight. You won't have adequate protection against it, and you'll get a bad burn real quick if you get exposed. I'll try to keep the bus turned away from it. But keep it in mind.

"You're going to be wrapped up with a bag over your head. That means you're going to feel constricted. Keep calm. Breathing will probably feel strange. Not inhaling. That'll be easy. But I think you'll have to work at it to exhale.

"The g-suit won't cool you off because it's supposed to plug into the p-suit. So you'll get warm. That's another reason we want to keep you out of the sun. You're going to feel as if you're in a sauna."

"Go ahead," Charlie said. "I'm taking notes."

"I'm sorry. I wish it were easier. Somebody make a bandanna and wrap it around his head." She went on to explain, step by step, what he needed to do.

"One more thing," she said. "We don't have an extra tether. Before you do anything else, haul Tony in, disconnect his tether, and tie it to your belt. Tight. If we have to move the bus, I'll blink the outside lights twice, count to five, and go. You make sure you've got a good hold, okay? The tether won't save you from getting beaten up, or even popping the bag. And for God's sake, make sure you stay connected to the bus so we don't lose you."

They put the bag back on. Evelyn was about to tape it down when Saber held up a finger. "Not yet," she said.

"Why not?"

"He's got to exhale. There's no way for the air to escape. He'll fog up." She produced a straw.

"But," said Evelyn, "the air'll drain through that."

"Right. So we need a stopcock. Anybody got a paper clip?"

"Here," said the chaplain.

She took it, clipped it over one end of the straw, examined it, and then secured it with tape. Now she taped the straw, clipped side down, to Charlie's g-suit top so that the upper end would be inside the plastic bag. "If you have to, Charlie," she said, "open the clip when you exhale." She bit her lip. "It'll help to bleed a little of the air out through the straw, but do that very slowly. If the pressure drops too fast, you'll get a nosebleed."

Her eyes grew dark. "I think you're set now. And I'm sorry. I don't like doing this to you."

He nodded and smiled.

Evelyn wrapped a utility belt around his middle, handed him his tools, and strapped his lamp on his wrist.

They wished him luck.

And Charlie, his mouth dry and his stomach churning, went into the airlock and pulled the door shut. The activating presspad was white. He pushed it, saw the status displays change color, and simply sagged, already feeling clammy. His breathing was loud inside the bag and he checked the straw to be sure the clip was still in place.