Don’t fade out on me! Bobby, stay awake! Here, let me get that dammed oxygen mask off you; we’re low enough to suck real air.
Bill, you shouldn’t try this. I don’t want us both to get killed.
I’ve got to, kid. Nothing else matters.
But . . .
Bobby, listen to me. I ought to be there with you. For real. 1 should’ve been on the line with you instead of playing around out here in space. 1 took the easy way out. The coward’s way out. They gave me a chance to play astronaut and I took it. I jumped at it!
Who wouldn’t?
You didn’t. I owe you my life, Bobby. You’re doing the fighting while I’m playing it safe a quarter million miles away from the real thing.
You’re crazy! You think blasting off into outer space on top of some glorified skyrocket and riding to the fucking Moon in a tin can is safe?
There’s no Indians up here shooting at us, kid.
I’ll take the Indians.
Bobby, I’m not kidding. I feel so goddamned ashamed. I’ve always grabbed the best piece of the pie away from you. All our lives. I ran out on you . . .
I always got the piece I wanted, big brother. You did what you had to do. And it’s important work. I know that. We all know that. I’m doing what I want to do.
You’re putting your life on the line.
So are you.
I shouldn’t have run out on you. I should have helped you fight this war.
There’s enough of us fighting this lousy war. Too many. It’s all a wagonload of shit, Bill. Talk about feeling ashamed. Making war on goddamned farmers and blowing villages to hell isn’t my idea of glory.
But how else . . .
You do what you have to do, brother. Doesn’t make any difference why. You get locked into the job by the powers that be.
The gold braid.
The gods.
Whatever.
We’re locked in, Billy. Both of us. All of us. It’s all a test, just like Father Gilhooley always told us. We do what we have to, because if we do less than that, we let down the guys with us. Nobody flies alone, brother. We’ve got each other’s lives in our hands.
You believe that?
I know it.
Bob?
Yeah.
I know I’ve treated you like shit ever since we were kids . . .
You did? When?
I’m sorry. I should’ve done better.
I should’ve been better, Bill. Sometimes I raised hell just to see what you’d do about it.
I love you, brother.
I know. It goes both ways, Bill.
Don’t die, Bobby. Please don’t die.
I don’t want to . . .
The pain was flowing over them both in overpowering waves now, like massive breakers at the beach. They could sense a new surge growing and gliding toward them and then engulfing them, drenching them until they finally broke out of it only to see a new wave heading their way.
I’m not going to make it, Bill.
Yes you are. We can make it.
I don’t think so. I’m sorry, big brother. I’m trying, but . . .
You can do it! We can do it—together.
Together. It’s not so bad that way, is it? I mean, when you’re not alone.
