He thought he heard a groan.

"That's it," he said, pushing the sled over the crest, down the gentle outward slope. "That's it. Stay with it. Don't you die on me. Don't you put me through all of this for nothing!"

"Kinsman!" Bok's voice. "Are you all right?"

The sled skidded against a meter-high rock. Scrambling after it, Kinsman answered, 'T'm bringing him in. Just shut up and leave us alone. I think he's alive." 147

"Houston says no," Bok answered, his voice strangely calm. "They've calculated that his air went bad on him. He can't possibly be alive. You are ordered to leave him and return to base shelter. Ordered, Kinsman."

"Tell Houston they're wrong. He's still alive. Now stop wasting my breath."

Pull the sled free. Push it to get it started downhill again. Strain to hold it back. Don't let it get away from you. Haul it out of the damned ciaterlets. Watch your step, don't fall.

"Too damned much uphill ... in this downhill."

Once he sprawled flat and knocked his helmet against the edge of the sled. He must have blacked out for a moment. Weakly, he dragged himself to the oxygen tank and refilled his suit's supply. Then he checked the priest's suit and topped off its tank.

"Can't do that again," he said to the silent priest. "Don't know if we'll make it. Maybe we can. If neither one of us has sprung a leak. Maybe ..."

Time slid away from him. The past and future disap- peared into an endless now, a forever of pain and struggle, with the heat of his toil welling up to drench him in his suit.

"Why don't you say something?" Kinsman panted at the priest. "You can't die. Understand me? You can't die! I've got to explain it to you. I didn't mean to kill her. I didn't even know she was a girl. You can't tell, can't see a face until you're too close. She must've been just as scared as I was. She tried to kill me. How'd I know their cosmonaut was just a scared kid? When I saw her face it was too late. But I didn't know. I didn't know . . ."

They reached the foot of the ringwall and Kinsman dropped to his knees. "Couple more klicks now. Straight- away. Only a couple more . . . kilometers."

His vision blurred and something in his head was buzzing angrily. Staggering to his feet, he lifted the line over his shoulder and slogged ahead. He could just make out the lighted top of the base's radio mast.

"Leave him, Kinsman!" Bok's voice pleaded from some- where. "You can't make it unless you leave him!"

"Shut . . . up."

One step after another. Don't think, don't count. Blank your mind. Be a mindless plow horse. Plod along. One step at 148 a time. Steer for the radio mast. Just a few . . . more . . . klicks.

"Don't die on me, priest! Don't you . . . die on me! You're my penance, priest. My ticket back. Don't die on me . . . don't die ..."

It all went dark. First in spots, then totally. Kinsman caught a glimpse of the barren landscape tilting weirdly, then the grave stars slid across his view, then darkness.

"I tried," he heard himself say in a far, far distant voice. "I tried."

For a moment or two he felt himself falling, dropping effortlessly into blackness. Then even that sensation died and he felt nothing at all.

A faint vibration buzzed at him.

The darkness started to shift, turn gray at the edges. Kinsman opened his eyes and saw the low curved ceiling of the underground base. The hum was the electrical generator that lit and warmed and brought good air into their tight little shelter.

"You okay?" Bok leaned over him. His chubby face was frowning worriedly.

Kinsman nodded weakly.