the outside—I'd be unconscious from insufficient oxygen. If the cold, or something else, didn't get me first. "Maybe there was some way out, but I didn't see one. I just sat down on a stone about a hundred yards from the ship and tried to think of something I could do. But—" I didn't go anywhere with the "but—" and there was a moment's silence, and then Charlie said, "Well?" And Blake said, "What did you do?" "Nothing," I said. "I couldn't think of a thing to do. I just sat there." "Till morning?" "No. I lost consciousness before morning. I came to while it was still dark, in the ship." Blake was looking at me with a puzzled frown. He said, "The hell. You mean—" And then Charlie let out a sudden yip and dived head-first out of the bunk he'd been lying on, and grabbed the gun out of my hand. I'd just finished cleaning it and slipped the cartridge-clip back in. And then, with it in his hand, he stood there staring at me as though he'd never seen me before. Blake said, "Sit down, Charlie. Don't you know when you're being ribbed? But—uh—better keep the gun, just the same." Charlie kept the gun all right, and turned it around to point at me. He said, "I'm making a damn fool out of myself all right, but—Hank, roll up your sleeves." I grinned and stood up. I said, "Don't forget my ankles, too." But there was something dead serious in his face, and I didn't push him too far. Blake said, "He could even have it on him somewhere else, with adhesive tape. I mean on the million-to-one chance that he wasn't kidding...." Charlie nodded without turning to look at Blake. He said, "Hank, I hate to ask it, but—" I sighed, and then chuckled. I said, "Well, I was just going to take a shower anyway." It was hot in the ship, and I was wearing only shoes and a pair of coveralls. Paying no attention to Blake and Charlie, I slipped them off and stepped through the oilsilk curtains of the little shower cubicle. And turned on the water. Over the sound of the shower, I could hear Blake laughing and Charlie cursing softly
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