She said: "I've found the rest of the welding torch. It works." She
didn't have to. I could see the cloud of steam from half a mile away.
When we returned to the tractor she took off her helmet and went
through the motions without any hesitation, but obviously without
feeling any more than I did--just the slightly damp contact of cold
lips.
"I'm not tired," she said, "I'll start driving." She put on her helmet
and climbed down through the airlock.
I hung up my helmet and started to peel off the rest of my suit, then
stopped and went to the forward window. I tried to imagine a certain
amount of grace in the movements as she clambered up the side of the
cab and got in through the hole I'd cut in the crumpled roof. But I've
never known anybody who could move gracefully in a space suit.
Except Mary.
Helene was not graceful. Not even a little.
I watched her start the engine and warm it carefully, constantly
checking the instruments. There isn't much that can go wrong with
a closed-cycle mercury vapor atomic, even when the reaction is
catalytically maintained to keep size and weight down. But if anything
did go wrong, it would probably stay wrong. We didn't have any spare
mercury.
After we'd been moving for about fifteen minutes, I went aft and
checked the 'dozer. It was riding nicely at the end of a towbar that
had been designed to pull the trailer it was supposed to have ridden
on. If it would just stay there--
I watched for a while, then finished peeling off my suit and crawled
into my bunk.