Without even thinking about it, I stepped over to Douglas. "Stinky! Can you hear me?"
"Yes. Where are you, Chigger?"
"I'm right here." I reached over and pressed against the back of Douglas's bubble, patting the bulge on his back that I assumed was Stinky. "Feel that?"
"Yes. I gotta go!"
"Listen to me. You've got to hold it. If you go now, you'll have to sit in it for six hours, for the rest of the day. And you won't be able to escape the stink. Is that what you want?"
"But I really really gotta go! I mean it!"
"Wait a minute–" That was Douglas. "Maybe I can work something out in here. Bobby, can you wait a minute–I've got a bathroom bag. You'll have to climb down from my back–"
"I'm all tied up, I can't get out. I gotta go."
Mickey said, "Can you turn around, Douglas? I'll invert the gloves and untie him. Or do you want to use the inflatable?"
"Bobby!" I said. "Which do you want to do first? Go to the bathroom or ride the roller coaster?"
"What roller coaster?"
"The one right here. The Lunar roller coaster."
"I can't see it. Douglas has his blanket over me."
"Do you want to go on the roller coaster?"
"Yes!"
"Can you hold it–?"
"Um … "
"'Um' isn't good enough. Can you hold it?"
"I'll try–"
"'I'll try' isn't good enough either. We have to know. Can you hold it for a few minutes more? Yes or no."
"Yes."
Mickey turned to me. "Charles, we can do it here. Douglas can take care of him in the bubble. Or they can go into the inflatable."
"Mickey, he went to the bathroom back in the pod, just before bounce‑down. He doesn't have to go–not as badly as he says he does. He hasn't eaten anything in the last twenty‑four hours, he doesn't like the MREs. And even if he had eaten, he'd be constipated anyway."
"And what if you're wrong?"
"I've spent the last eight years monitoring his bowel and his blad‑; der. After you've cleaned him up a couple of times, you start paying attention to these things."
Mickey wasn't convinced. "He sounds awfully insistent to me."
"He does this everywhere," I explained. "At home, in the car, on trips. Nobody else can ever use the bathroom if he doesn't want them to. If he's not the center of attention, he's gotta go. He does it to escape spankings. He does it to get me in trouble. And he did it at Barringer Meteor Crater–you heard about that?–because somewhere he's figured out that announcing that you have to go to the bathroom is the reset button for reality. You notice, he hasn't said a word for the past two minutes? If something interesting is happening, he forgets he has to go."
Right on schedule, Stinky piped up. "I wanna go on the roller coaster!"
Mickey turned back to Douglas. "What do you want to do?"
"Chigger is right. Let's keep going."
"We haven't heard from Alexei–" Mickey fiddled with his phone. "Alexei–? Can you hear me. Respond please?" To me, he said, "It's a long way down. If he went slow–"
"He could still answer, couldn't he?" I bounced up and flipped my wheel over the cord, clicking my grabber onto the other handle with an ease that surprised me. I was getting used to this stuff.
Before I could kick free, Mickey blocked me. "Charles, wait–"
"Why? If something happened to him, we're on our own. Waiting up here is only going to use up oxygen. You have to stay with Douglas and Stinky. I can do this–"
"Mickey, he's right. Let him go. We have to get down from here."
Mickey sighed and stepped out of the way. I don't think he liked any of us right at that moment.
I didn't care. I kicked free.
GETTING DOWN
I sailed off the rocks and out into open space–above the crater wall, above the rubble‑strewn slope, above the gaping chasms, toward the distant gray Lunar plain. Parts of it were so dark the shadows were tangible.
There wasn't as much sense of motion as I expected–and there wasn't as much falling feeling either. Even so, my heart lurched in my chest. Here I was again, hanging in open space–
I tried looking up. That didn't help. The cord was zipping by too fast. I looked down. That was even worse. I could see how fast the ground was coming up. The line was too steep. I twisted the handles as hard as I could.
The wheel slowed, the vibration in my hands and arms changed. But it didn't feel slow enough. "Oh, chyorr!" I should have started sooner.
"Charles–?"
"I'm trying to slow down." The ground was coming up awfully fast. And I was feeling reallystupid. I twisted the handles harder–but they were already at their limit; they clicked into a locked position. The wheel was stopped–but I was still going! The wheel skidded and bounced along the cord. Was this what happened to Alexei? Betrayed by the Lunar laws of physics? There wasn't enough weight on the wheel, there wasn't enough friction between the wheel and the line, they were both too polished– and the line was too damn steep! I was just going to keep sliding all the way down–until I slammed into a big unfriendly boulder.
It was a long way down. More than a klick, maybe two. How fast would I be going when I hit bottom? Fast enough to hurt? Fast enough to puncture the bubble suit? Twenty kph? Thirty? More? If only I had a couple of Palmer tubes–
That gave me an idea. I took my hands out of the connecting gloves and hurriedly connected the emergency rebreather tube to the valve of the bubble suit. It snapped immediately into place. This was going to be tricky. I pointed the valve and opened it in a series of short bursts.
I couldn't hear the outrush of air, but I could feel it. I came skidding to a stop on the line. My downward rush was halted. The line wasn't as steep here, the brakes held. I took my finger off the valve. I couldn't believe it–it worked! I'd traded a few minutes of air–maybe more–for a safe landing. A fair trade. I shoved my hands back into the gloves and looked down. I was hanging thirty meters above a yawning abyss. It was too dark to see how deep the bottom was.
"Chigger?" That was Douglas. "What was that screaming about?"
"What screaming?"
"You were screaming."
"No, I wasn't–was I really?"
"Yes, you were. What happened?"
"I was going too fast. The brakes didn't work. Well, they worked, but they didn't. Alexei screwed up, I think. Even if the wheel doesn't turn, you'll still go skidding down the line. But it's okay. I stopped myself. I used some of the air from my rebreather."
"How much?" That was Mickey.
"Not too much. Just a few squirts."
"Charles, I don't want to alarm you. But it's hard to tell how big a squirt is in vacuum. Don't panic. We've all got spare bottles. We're not going to run out of air. But that's not a real good idea."
"It was the only one I had, Mickey. Anyway, you and Douglas are going to have to do the same thing."
"No, we're not. I'm going to figure something else out. Where are you now?"
"Hanging maybe a hundred klicks over nothing in particular."
"How much farther do you have to go?"
I peered ahead. "The ground levels out soon. So does the line. It looks like maybe two or three hundred meters. It's hard to tell."
"You'll have to go very slow."
"I know that!"
"All right. Just keep talking."
My arms were starting to get tired. I reached up, grabbed the handles firmly, took a breath, and carefully began untwisting–not very much, just enough to unlock the brake and let the wheel start rolling. Only a little bit. I began moving forward. Very slowly. So far so good.