Helene moved quietly to the other end of the compartment while I struggled into my suit. It had been that way ever since we started. We'd never tried to go through the motions after that one ineffectual attempt. So far, it hadn't mattered. Driving required all our attention, and after ten hours "up front" there wasn't much problem involved in sleeping, no matter what we had on our minds.

Now it would matter. That bar could take a long time to fix, even if I didn't go in very far. Helene would be just sitting around watching.

If she was my wife it wouldn't have mattered....

She waited until I was through the lock before she followed.

There were normal tread-marks for a hundred feet or so behind the 'dozer, then several hundred feet of shallow ruts. She'd disconnected the 'dozer brakes and then moved forward and stopped slowly—using the brakes on the tractor itself—to see whether the trouble was in the bar or in the actuators on the 'dozer. I checked the actuators, brushed out some dirt and sand, and reconnected, then tried to drive away.

The brakes were still jammed.

"So?" she inquired.

"So we take the bar apart."

"The tech orders were in Ed's head."

"Don't I know it!"

"I didn't think you knew anything about this stuff. Anything specific, I mean."

"I don't."

"But you think you can fix it?"

"No, but I can't make it any worse."

She laughed abruptly. "True. How long?"

"Five minutes; five days. I don't know."

"No."

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