He closed the outer door. As he returned the pressure to the compartment, the suit became limp against him, and Orville was so weak that he sank to the floor. He was still lying there when Harold took off the headpiece.
"It's a total flop," Orville told him. "It's been a waste of time. No use going out."
He told Harold about the narrow escape he'd had in the fog. Fog on the Moon? This didn't sound right to Harold. He was fooling with the helmet, scratching frost from the inside of the visor. "Couldn't you get the defroster working? This little button right here. I showed you."
Orville knew, to his shame and disgust, that he had been looking at his own breath all of that time.
Harold now insisted on going out. Orville shined the flashlight around. He was looking for the souvenir, and he found it, near their feet.
It was a package carefully wrapped in paper, some of the refuse which he had thrown outside.
That figures, he thought bitterly. Well, anyway, I was first man. They can't take that away from me!
Harold was gone a long time. The nose of the ship was becoming very cold and the only light came from the luminous dial of Orville's watch. What was Harold doing out there? Maybe he'd snagged his suit and blown up like a soap bubble. How long should Orville wait before giving up? He should have learned how to run the ship, in case of an emergency like this.
A distant clank startled him. The ship rolled slightly. Orville reached out a hand in the dark to steady himself and chilled when he realized what he'd put his hand on. It was the starting switch.