"Come, now, Mister Crag, you know the stakes. The moon goes to the country whose living representative is based here when the U.N. makes its decision—which should be soon. Note that I said living."
"Most of the supplies are in Red Dog," Crag pointed out.
"There's enough here for one man." The voice was maddeningly bland in Crag's earphones.
"You won't live through the rockstorm," Crag promised savagely.
"The chances of a direct hit are pretty remote. You said that yourself."
"Maybe...."
"That's good enough for me."
"Damn you, Larkwell, you can't do this. Throw that ladder down." It was Nagel. Again the scream came over the earphones: "Throw it down, I say."
"You've made a mistake," Crag cut in calmly. "We can survive. There's enough oxygen in Red Dog."
"I opened each cylinder you handed down," the man in the hatch stated matter-of-factly. "In fact, I opened all of the cylinders in Red Dog. Sorry, Mister Crag, but the oxygen's all gone. Soon you'll follow Prochaska."