Leaving the door open, he walked away, looking back toward it. He retrieved his cup and filled it with tepid water. Throwing his head back he drained it at a gulp; then refilled it. He walked to the engine compartment door. It swung open at his touch, and he stepped into the tiny gangway. Here a tiny porthole looked out into the infinite blue-black deeps of space. Jim leaned against a bulkhead and wiped sweat from his eyes.
He tried to think. Not of escape, but of the frigid emptiness of space, the cool earth he had left behind. Into his mind came a fleeting glimpse of a lake back home on earth, a cold lake ringed with blue-green pines, jade waters where he had dived deep with the iciness stinging his skin. Against the metal bulkhead, his back began to burn. The vision faded. He realized he was thirsty all over.
He gulped his cup of water and went back to the pilot's compartment. At the open door of the gun cabinet, he stopped and sent his empty cup clattering against the sunward windows. He took the gun from the cabinet.
Back to the pilot's chair again. He toyed with the gun. The ship had turned now so that the other vast heaving horizon cut across the view. "Oh, hell!" Jim said, and brought the gun's muzzle to his mouth.
"Oh, hell!" Jim said and brought the gun's muzzle to his mouth.
Then he lowered it, sweat poured down into his eyes as his forehead wrinkled in dull puzzlement. He should be thinking about something, he was forgetting something. Jim tried to cudgel his heat-beclouded brain into some semblance of order.... Water, explosion, change of velocity.... Where was the drain outlet for the water supply located?
He laid the gun aside and riffled through a drawer of blueprints, until he found the piping layout. Now he explored the maze of piping along the ship's sunward side. There it was, a little brass valve with a pipe leading to the outside skin.