"I'm sure I can," Helena said, taking the package and glancing at it briefly. "These are latkes, it says so clearly on the outside."
"Dehydrated potato pancakes…" he choked out. "I'm beginning to think the rest of the people in the Yuri were the lucky ones."
"Not even in jest," Damian said. "Touch wood when you say that."
"I doubt if there is any in this capsule, if you don't count the latkes."
When they had finished, Chuck counted the stores, then opened another lid to check the reading on the meter attached to the oxygen tanks. He tried the radio again, but there was only the waterfall of static. At the end of an hour he did his observations once more, then computations.
"Well, I'll be damned.” he said.
"Is something wrong?" Damian asked.
"Let me check again."
Only after he had done everything a third time did he speak to them. There was no humor in his voice now.
"I'll lay it right on the line. We're in trouble. We had the luck to be behind the explosion — in relation to the ship's direction of travel, that is — and it had the effect of canceling a good part of our momentum."
"I don't understand what you are talking about." Helena said firmly.
"Then I'll simplify it. If the ship hadn't blown it would have reached Earth in about two days. But this capsule doesn't have the same speed anymore. It's going to be three to four weeks before we get near enough to Earth to send a message and be picked up."
"So what is wrong with that? It will be uncomfortable certainly, the lack of privacy here with you two men—"
"Will you let me finish? It will be more than uncomfortable, it will be deadly. We have food — though we could go without eating for that long. The water is recycled so there is no shortage there. But these capsules are too small to carry CO2 regenerations. Our oxygen will run out in about two weeks. We'll be a week dead before we can send a message that anyone can hear and act on."
"Is there no way out?" Damian asked. "I don't know. If we—"
"This is nonsense!" Helena burst in. "We can radio the moon, Earth, they'll send ships."
"It's not that easy," Chuck said. "I know what ships there are on the moon and I know their range. We're practically outside their zone of operation now, not forgetting the fact that we can't even contact them. If the solar storm lasts even a few hours more we have to write them off. They won't even be able to pick up our signals by that time. After that it is the long haul to Earth, contacting one of the satellite stations, waiting while they plot our position and a ship can reach us. Three weeks absolute minimum, probably four."
Helena began to cry then, and he didn't try to stop her. It was something to cry about. He waited until she had finished and then, since neither of the others had seemed to see the obvious answer, he told them, in a flat and toneless voice.
"The amount of air that three people breathe in two weeks is the same amount that two people breathe in three weeks. It might even last a little longer with proper care,"
There was a long moment of silence before Damian spoke. "You do realize what you are saying? There is no other way out of this?"
"I've gone over everything, every possibility. This is the only way that some of us stand a chance. Sure death for three. A fifty-fifty chance for two. Not good odds, but better than no odds."
"But — someone will have to die to give the others a chance to live?"
"Yes, putting it simply, that's the way it will have to be."
Damian took a deep breath. "And the one to die won't be you. You're needed to navigate and to work the radio—"
"Not at all. Though I confess to a sneaking wish that it really were that way. The navigation is done. It will take me about ten minutes to show you both how to operate the radio and call for help. There is unlimited power from the solar cells so the signal can go out continuously once the solar storm is over."
"That is — well — very decent of you. You could have told us differently and we would have believed you. Makes it a bit easier on me, if you know what I mean. For a moment there, with Miss Ty-blewski out of it it looked like I was going to be the reluctant volunteer. So it is you or I…"
"No, one of the three of us," Chuck said.
"I'm sorry, you can't possibly mean that a woman—"
"I can and do. This is no game, Damian, of women and children first into the lifeboat. This is death, one hundred percent certain that I am talking about. All lives are equal. We are all in this together. I'm sure Helena appreciates your gesture, but I don't think she is the kind of person who wants to take advantage of it. Am I right?" he asked, turning to the girl.
"You're a pig," she hissed. "A fat, stupid pig."
"I'm wrong," Chuck said flatly, facing Damian. "I'll issue the order and take the responsibility. You can both sign it as witnesses, under protest if you like…"
"You want to kill me, I know, to save yourself," Helena shouted. "You don't care—"
"Please, don't," Damian said, taking her by the arms, but she shook him off, pushing him so hard he hit the opposite side of the capsule.
"Who do you think you are to set yourself up as a judge of life and death!"
"I am the officer in charge of this vessel," Chuck said in a voice of great weariness. "There are rules and orders for this sort of occasion and I am on my oath to follow them. This is the correct procedure, an equal chance for all to survive, no favoritism."
"You are just using that for an excuse."
"You are welcome to think so. However, I agree with the rule and think it the only just one…"
"I'll have nothing to do with it."
"That is your choice. But the results are binding on you whether you partake or not." He looked over at Darnian who, white-faced, had been listening silently. "You talk to her, Darnian, perhaps she'll listen to you. Or do you agree with her?"
"I… really don't know. It is so hard to say. But we… that is, there isn't much choice really."
"None," Chuck said.
It was something Damian would never have considered doing before, putting his arms about a girl whom he had just met, but everything was very different now. He held her and she leaned against him and sobbed and it was very natural for both of them.
"Let's get this over with," Chuck said, "the worst thing we can do is wait. And we'd all better agree beforehand what is going to happen. I have three identical squares of plastic here, and I've marked one of them with an X. Take a look at them. And three pieces of brown wrapper from this food pack. You do it, Damian, twist a piece of wrapper around each square, twist each one the same way so they can't be told apart. Now shake them up in your cupped hands so you don't know which is which. All right. Let them float right there in the middle where we can all see them."
Damian opened his cupped hands and the three twists of plastic drifted in free fall. One floated away from the others and he prodded it back into position. They all stared, they could not help themselves, fixedly and intently at the tiny scraps of destiny.
"Here's what will happen next," Chuck said. "We'll each take one. I'll draw last. I have a pill in my belt, it's standard spacer gear, and whoever draws the piece with the X takes the pill six hours from now—" he looked at his watch—"at exactly 1900 hours. Is it understood and agreed? This is it. There is no going back or mind-changing later. Now and forever. Agreed?"
Tight-lipped, Damian only gave a quick nod. Helena said or did nothing, beyond flashing Chuck a look of utter hatred.
"It is agreed then," he said. "The pill is instantaneous and absolutely painless. Here we go. Helena, do you want to draw first?"