"Fractured vertebra, I think. I'm paralyzed from the waistline down. That crash—"
"Bad. Now what?"
"Where's your ship?"
"Back there a half-mile or so," said Cal.
"Don't carry me," she warned as he tried to lift her. "Go back there and either bring it here or get something to strap me on."
"It'll take hours. The ship won't fly. I'll have to radio back to Northern Landing for help."
"I ... won't last."
"You—" the meaning hit him then. "You won't last?"
"Not unless that vertebra is repaired."
"Then what can we do?"