That saved him long enough to regain balance. Sweating heavily now, he turned the heat lower and made another try. That one was more successful. He gained about a foot on that hop. The door was —
Suddenly, it seemed a vast, incredible distance away. The twenty feet that separated him from it loomed like a journey of pioneering proportions. He cut off that line of thought and concentrated on the next hop.
He soon had to leave the protecting lee of the line of carcasses that had twice served to balance him. They were like old friends whose sudden departure now was tragic.
He hopped away. One slow step, and another. At midpoint he half stumbled, then recovered. He paused. His breathing was coming hard and fast. The muscles of his leg ached to the point of collapse.
Calm down. Take it easy, he told himself savagely. There was nothing to get excited about. He wasn't stranded on some barren desert of the Moon. This was his own factory where he spent ten or twelve hours of nearly every day. This was home territory. He could hop another ten feet and jerk that handle that would open the door and let him into the lock.
He resumed the slow maneuvering. Nine more. Eight. Almost there wouldn't be good enough. If the remainder of the springs gave way with just two feet to go, it was still no better than when he started out. He had to make every single one of those hops. And each one lessened the chance of making the next. And all the while the ghost screamed in his ears.
When he finally reached the wall he almost cried. With outstretched arms, he leaned close against it, hugging the chill, imprisoning surface. The pain in his leg was sickening, but he forced it to hold him up while the aching muscle cells slowly recovered.
He was safe, now, he thought. Safe. What had he ever been afraid of? He knew the answer to that well enough. It had always terrified him. The emptiness, the cold. He'd never get to the Moon. He'd never be a spaceman.
He looked up at the door lever just above his head. One pull on that and he'd —
One pull —