"You can't make it to the ship," Berne warned him. "I'll be on you before you get the lock closed."
"I know," Hervey agreed soberly. "I wouldn't like that at all, Joe."
"No," Berne said. "You wouldn't."
Stalemate. The two men sat on the black, seared rocks and watched each other, and the hours crawled. Twice Berne got up and chased Hervey away, into the outer darkness. It was useless.
"You got yourself in a fine mess, boy," Hervey said. "You should learn not to be so careless."
"Shut up," Berne gritted.
"I figured that business of the oxygen tanks was funny," Hervey went on. "Made me sort of stop and think, Joe. Then I knew what you were up to. And when I mentioned the harness, back there in the cabin, you didn't remember to hide your face. I had sort of a hunch that you might try something tonight."
"You weren't strapped down." Berne's voice was sulkily accusing.
"No," Hervey agreed blithely. "I wasn't. When you went out to the tunnel to get your wrench, I unsnapped. I was holding on to the bunk with both hands, waiting for you to make up your stupid mind."
"Shut up," Berne said. "Shut up!" His voice raised to a scream, deafening him in his helmet. "I'm going to break you to pieces."