Suddenly a blast of wind, hot as fire, swept across the sandy plains, whipping the sand up and around the two walking figures, biting into exposed hands and faces. Tom tried to adjust his goggles when the sand began to penetrate around the edges but his fingers shook and he dropped them. In a flash, the sand drove into his eyes, blinding him.
"I can't see, Astro," said Tom in a hoarse whisper when Astro staggered up. "You'll have to guide."
Astro took the compass out of Tom's hand and then placed his unit-mate's hand on his back. Tom gripped the loose folds of the space cloth and uniform beneath and struggled blindly after the big cadet.
The hot sun bore down. The wind kept blowing and Astro, with Roger slung across his back like a sack of potatoes and Tom clinging blindly to his uniform, walked steadily on.
He felt each step would be his last, but with each step he told himself through gritted teeth that he could do ten more—and then ten more—ten more.
He walked, he staggered, and once he fell to the ground, Tom slumping behind him and Roger being tossed limply to the scorching sand. Slowly Astro recovered, helped Tom to his feet, then with the last of his great strength, picked up Roger again. This time, he was unable to get him to his shoulder so he carried him like a baby in his arms.
At last the sun began to drop in the red sky. Astro felt Roger's limp body slipping from his grip. By now, Tom had lost all but the very last ounce of his strength and was simply being pulled along.
"Tom—" gasped Astro with great effort, "I'm going to count to a thousand and then—I'm going to stop."
Tom didn't answer.
Astro began to count. "One—two—three—four—five—six—" He tried to make each number become a step forward. He closed his eyes. It wasn't important which way he went. It was only important that he walk those thousand steps, "five hundred eleven—five hundred twelve—five hundred thirteen—"