Harry’s eyelids fluttered, but he was otherwise unresponsive. Norman lifted him, put him over his shoulder, carried him through the habitat.

On the intercom, Beth was still crying. “Norman, you shouldn’t have come.”

“Where are you, Beth?”

On the monitors, he read:

  DETONATION SEQUENCE 09:32.

Counting backward. The numbers seemed too to move fast.

“Take Harry and go, Norman. Both of you go. Leave me behind.”

“Tell me where you are, Beth.”

He was moving through the habitat, from D to C Cyl. He didn’t see her anywhere. Harry was a dead weight on his shoulder, making it difficult to get through the bulkhead doors.

“It won’t do any good, Norman.”

“Come on, Beth…”

“I know I’m bad, Norman. I know I can’t be helped.”

“Beth…” He was hearing her through the helmet radio, so he could not locate her by the sound. But he could not risk removing his helmet. Not now.

“I deserve to die, Norman.”

“Cut it out, Beth.”

“Attention, please. Nine minutes and counting.”

A new alarm sounded, an intermittent beeping that became louder and more intense as the seconds ticked by.

He was in B Cyl, a maze of pipes and equipment. Once clean and multicolored, now the slimy mold coated every surface. In some places fibrous mossy strands hung down. B Cyl looked like a jungle swamp.

“Beth…”

She was silent now. She must be in this room, he thought. B Cyl had always been Beth’s favorite place, the place where the habitat was controlled. He put Harry on the deck, propped him against a wall. But the wall was slippery and Harry slid down, banged his head. He coughed, opened his eyes.

“Jesus. Norman?”

Norman held his hand up, signaling Harry to be quiet.

“Beth?” Norman said.

No answer. Norman moved among the slimy pipes.

“Beth?”

“Leave me, Norman.”

“I can’t do that, Beth. I’m taking you, too.”

“No. I’m staying, Norman.”

“Beth,” he said, “there’s no time for this.”

“I’m staying, Norman. I deserve to stay.”

He saw her.

Beth was huddled in the back, wedged among pipes, crying like a child. She held one of the explosive-tipped spear guns in her hand. She looked at him tearfully.

“Oh, Norman,” she said. “You were going to leave us…”

“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

He started toward her, holding out his hands to her. She swung the spear gun around. “No, you were right. You were right. I want you to leave now.”

Above her head he saw a glowing monitor, the numbers clicking inexorably backward: 08:27… 08:26…

He thought, I can change this. I want the numbers to stop counting.

The numbers did not stop.

“You can’t fight me, Norman,” she said, huddled in the corner. Her eyes blazed with furious energy.

“I can see that.”

“There isn’t much time, Norman. I want you to leave.” She held the gun, pointed firmly toward him. He had a sudden sense of the absurdity of it all, that he had come back to rescue someone who didn’t want to be rescued. What could he do now? Beth was wedged back in there, beyond his reach, beyond his help. There was barely enough time for him to get away, let alone to take Harry…

Harry, he thought suddenly. Where was Harry now? I want Harry to help me.

But he wondered if there was time; the numbers were clicking backward, there was hardly more than eight minutes, now…

“I came back for you, Beth.”

“Go,” she said. “Go now, Norman.”

“But, Beth-”

“-No, Norman! I mean it! Go! Why don’t you go?” And then she began to get suspicious; she started to look around; and at that moment Harry stood up behind her, and swung the big wrench down on her head, and there was a sickening thud, and she fell.

“Did I kill her?” Harry said.

And the deep male voice said, “Attention, please. Eight minutes and counting.”

Norman concentrated on the clock as it ticked backwards. Stop. Stop the countdown.

But when he looked again, the clock was still ticking backwards. And the alarm: Was the alarm interfering with his concentration? He tried again.

Stop now. The countdown will stop now. The countdown has stopped.

“Forget it,” Harry said. “It won’t work.”

“But it should work,” Norman said.

“No,” Harry said. “Because she’s not completely unconscious.”

On the floor at their feet, Beth groaned. Her leg moved. “She’s still able to control it, somehow,” Norman said. “She’s very strong.”

“Can we inject her?”

Norman shook his head. There was no time to go back for the syringe. Anyway, if they injected her and it didn’t work, it would be time wasted-

“Hit her again?” Harry said. “Harder? Kill her?”

“No,” Norman said.

“Killing her is the only way-”

“-No,” Norman said, thinking, We didn’t kill you, Harry, when we had the chance.

“If you won’t kill her, then you can’t do anything about that timer,” Harry said. “So we better get the hell out.”

They ran for the airlock.

“How much time is left’?” Harry said. They were in the A Cyl airlock, trying to put the suit on Beth. She was groaning; blood was matted on the back of her head. Beth struggled a little, making it more difficult.

“Jesus, Beth-how much time, Norman?”

“Seven and a half minutes, maybe less.”

Her legs were in; they quickly pushed her arms in, zipped up the chest. They turned on her air. Norman helped Harry with his suit.

“Attention, please. Seven minutes and counting.”

Harry said, “How much time you figure to get to the surface?”

“Two and a half minutes, after we get inside the sub,” Norman said.

“Great,” Harry said.

Norman snapped Harry’s helmet locked. “Let’s go.” Harry descended into the water, and Norman lowered Beth’s unconscious body. She was heavy with the tank and weights.

“Come on, Norman!”

Norman plunged into the water.

At the submarine, Norman climbed up to the hatch entrance, but the untethered sub rolled unpredictably with his weight. Harry, standing on the bottom, tried to push Beth up toward Norman, but Beth kept bending over at the waist. Norman, grabbing for her, fell off the sub and slid to the bottom.

“Attention, please. Six minutes and counting.”

“Hurry, Norman! Six minutes!”

“I heard, damn it.”

Norman got to his feet, climbed back on the sub, but now his suit was muddy, his gloves slippery. Harry was counting: “Five twenty-nine… five twenty-eight… five twentyseven…” Norman caught Beth’s arm, but she slipped away again.

“Damn it, Norman! Hold on to her!”

“I’m trying!”

“Here. Here she is again.”

“Attention, please. Five minutes and counting.”

The alarm was now high-pitched, beeping insistently. They had to shout over it to be heard.

“Harry, give her to me-”

“Well, here, take her-”

“Missed-”

“Here-”

Norman finally caught Beth’s air hose in his hand, just behind the helmet. He wondered if it would pull out, but he had to risk it. Gripping the hose, he hauled Beth up, until she lay on her back on the top of the sub. Then he eased her down into the hatch.

“Four twenty-nine… four twenty-eight…”

Norman had trouble keeping his balance. He got one of Beth’s legs into the hatch, but the other knee was bent, jammed against the lip of the hatch. He couldn’t get her down. Every time he leaned forward to unbend her leg, the whole submarine tipped, and he would start to lose his balance again.

“Four sixteen… four fifteen…”

“Would you stop counting and do something!”

Harry pressed his body against the side of the submarine, countering the rolling with his weight. Norman leaned forward and pressed Beth’s knee straight; she slid easily into the open hatch. Norman climbed in after her. It was a one-man airlock, but Beth was unconscious, and could not work the controls.