Time for the third injection.

Maybe it would be better to take no chances--move Eileen to a lower point, where the air was clearer.

Besides, the heat here by the bunk was becoming almost unbearable. Already, both of them were drenched with sweat.

_Sweat! Heat--!_ Boone went rigid.

There shouldn't be any heat to speak of--not if they lay in a plate-sprung ship on Hyperion's frigid surface!

Then what--?

Boone could find no ready answer.

The air grew thicker, thicker. Eileen's breathing steadily became more labored.

Freeing her from the safety pack, Boone carried her to the room's lowest corner. She roused a little, then sank back once more, as if even consciousness had become an effort.

More seconds. More minutes.

Then, slowly, the pressure on Boone's lungs seemed to lift. Depression and weariness fell away. New energy flowed through him.

He dared a look at his chronox.

Three hours and seventeen minutes!

Of a sudden he was giddy with exaltation. He wanted to shout, to laugh and leap.

From the corner, Eileen whispered, "Fred, have we made it?"

Wordless, he stumbled to her.

Her eyes were open, cool and steady. The last flushed traces of fever had vanished.

"Eileen--!" he choked, "Eileen...." and strained her to him.

Then, because he could not trust his own emotions further, he rose and took up the blaster. "I'll go take a look around, get you something to eat."

The corridor outside was thick with the alien atmosphere. But though it stung his eyes a little, his lungs now accepted it without protest.

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