Something lifted and unfolded out the top.

It opened like a flower, until it was about eight inches across. A finger lifted (an antenna?), swung as if hunting, steadied and pointed at the sky.

Then the beacon switched on. I'm sure that is what happened although all I saw was a flash of light-parasitic it must have been, for light alone would not have served even without that volcanic overcast. It was probably some harmless side effect of switching on an enormous pulse of power, something the Mother Thing hadn't had time, or perhaps equipment or materials, to eliminate or shield. It was about as bright as a peanut photoflash.

But I was looking at it. Polarizers can't work that fast. It blinded me.

I thought my headlamp had gone out, then I realized that I simply couldn't see through a big greenish-purple disc of dazzle.

("Take it easy, boy. It's just an after-image. Wait and it'll go away.")

"I can't wait! I'm freezing to death!"

("Hook the line with your forearm, where it's clipped to your belt. Pull on it.")

I did as Oscar told me, found the line, turned around, started to wind it on both forearms.

It shattered.

It did not break as you expect rope to break; it shattered like glass. I suppose that is what it was by then-glass, I mean. Nylon and glass are super-cooled liquids.

Now I know what "super-cooled" means.

But all I knew then was that my last link with life had gone. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I was all alone on a bare platform, billions of miles from home, and a wind out of the depths of a frozen hell was bleeding the last life out of a body I could barely feel-and where I could feel, it hurt like fire.

"Oscar!"

("I'm here, bud. You can make it. Now-can you see anything?")

"No!"

("Look for the mouth of the tunnel. It's got light in it. Switch off your headlamp. Sure, you can-it's just a toggle switch. Drag your hand back across the right side of our helmet.")

I did.

("See anything?")

"Not yet."

("Move your head. Try to catch it in the corner of your eye-the dazzle stays in front, you know. Well?")

"I caught something that time!"

("Reddish, wasn't it? Jagged, too. The volcano. Now we know which way we're facing. Turn slowly and catch the mouth of the tunnel as it goes by.")

Slowly was the only way I could turn. "There it is!"

("Okay, you're headed home. Get down on your hands and knees and crab slowly to your left. Don't turn-because you want to hang onto that edge and crawl. Crawl toward the tunnel.")

I got down. I couldn't feel the surface with my hands but I felt pressure on my limbs, as if all four were artificial. I found the edge when my left hand slipped over it and I almost fell off. But I recovered. "Am I headed right?"

("Sure you are. You haven't turned. You've just moved sideways. Can you lift your head to see the tunnel?")

"Uh, not without standing up."

("Don't do that! Try the headlamp again. Maybe your eyes are okay now.")

I dragged my hand forward against the right side of the helmet. I must have hit the switch, for suddenly I saw a circle of light, blurred and cloudy in the middle. The edge of the walkway sliced it on the left.

("Good boy! No, don't get up; you're weak and dizzy and likely to fall. Start crawling. Count ‘em. Three hundred ought to do it.")

I started crawling, counting.

"It's a long way, Oscar. You think we can make it?"

("Of course we can! You think I want to be left out here?")

"I'd be with you."

("Knock off the chatter. You'll make me lose count. Thirty-six... thirty-seven... thirty-eight-")

We crawled.

("That's a hundred. Now we double it. Hundred one... hundred two... hundred three-")

"I'm feeling better, Oscar. I think it's getting warmer."

("WHAT!")

"I said I'm feeling a little warmer."

("You're not warmer, you blistering idiot! That's freeze-to-death you're feeling! Crawl faster! Work your chin valve. Get more air. Le' me hear that chin valve click!")

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."

("I'm afraid it is. I've let you down... but thanks for not leaving me outside there.")