Even in this tense moment my mind was demanding explanations, even fantastic ones. What had happened? If the hasp couldn't unfasten itself, if the line couldn't have broken, something must have broken it or unfastened the hasp. What? Morrie's ghost, vowing vengeance for whatever fancied wrong I'd done to him in the machinery cabin? Or Spartan? Or something else?
These thoughts occupied only a second because I had to get busy and, as Morrie and I whirled around in our ghostly dance in space, I reached for the petcock of my oxygen flask. Just as I touched it, a warning shot through my mind: Spartan had given me a tank with only a small amount of oxygen in it, therefore he had to be the one who was trying to get rid of me. He had released my line, knowing I'd take the quickest way back to the locks, rather than to clamber over the sides.
Small comfort, this sudden discovery. I realized that since I had a minimum supply of oxygen to breathe, it would be suicidal to use any part of it for jetting back to the ship, which was pulling farther and farther ahead.
Across from me, sailing round and round like a devil's carousel, Morrie seemed to grin as the sunlight struck his helmet again. He was dead and had plenty of air, he seemed to say. I was alive and hadn't enough. And that grin was what did it. I realized he had enough to get us both back—if I acted quickly.
I pulled him toward me. It was difficult to twist him around, more difficult to turn him toward the ship. Finally I succeeded in pointing him right and I thumbed open the jet petcock at the base of his oxygen equipment.
He shot forward, but the line attached to both our belts made him somersault, and there was a tug on the thin strand that tied us together. He was pulling me away from the ship, putting more distance between me and safety. For him, it didn't matter.
Quickly I pulled him back. I grabbed both his legs, like the handles of a wheelbarrow, and pointed him toward the ship, which with each second was getting farther and farther away. How far I had no idea because, as I said, distances are hard to judge in space.
Now the air jet was shoving us forward, accelerating us toward the ship. I hoped it would match the ship's acceleration but I couldn't tell at first. Then I laughed out loud. My voice made a hollow sound in my ears. We were gaining. Just a tiny bit, but the ship was getting larger. Now the question was, did I have enough air on Morrie's back to carry us to the ship? The air jet was intended for only short bursts, such as I'd used when I crossed from the Saturn capsule to the Jehad. Now I needed continued acceleration.
The thin vapor stream from the flask continued and now we were above the stern of the ship, where Gail's quarters had been established. Then the rush of air didn't seem quite as strong—we weren't creeping up as fast.
The air locks weren't far ahead, but we were above the ship, maybe two hundred yards away. Morrie's life line, the part still attached to the ship after I cut him loose, was whirling around with the ship, thrown out to its full length by the rotation. Whoever had released my line hadn't bothered Morrie's. Maybe the killer knew Morrie was dead—or maybe his object was only to kill me.