There is a very narrow limit on how long a patient can take vacuum. Auntie was old and wounded and had had it done to her once today. Could she take it twice?
There was no question of opening her helmet. The bolt that had hit her there had carved a slice into the top of the helmet but not into her head-else we would not have been considering whether or not to open her sleeve.
Gwen put her helmet against Auntie's, managed to rouse her and get her attention. Was she bleeding?
Auntie didn't think so. Her arm was numb but didn't hurt much. Did they get it? Get what? Something in the cargo. Gwen assured her that the bandits didn't get anything; they were dead. That seemed to satisfy Auntie. She added, 'Taddie can drive," and seemed to slip off to sleep.
Our third casualty was one of Lady Diana's husbands. Dead. But not by either set of bandits. In effect, he had shot himself in the foot.
I think I mentioned that he was heeled-with his gun for God's sake inside his suit. When the trouble started, he went for his side arm, found he could not reach it-opened the front of his suit to get at it.
It is possible to open your suit and close it again, in vacuum, and I think the legendary Houdini could have learned to do it. But this joker was still rumbling for his gun when he collapsed and drowned in vacuum. His co-husband was a half-point smarter. Instead of going for his own gun, he attempted to get at that of his partner after his partner keeled over. He did manage to get at it and to draw it but too late to help in the fight. He straightened up just as I was pulling myself to my foot, after I stabbed the last of the bandits.
So I find this custard head waving a gun in my face.
I did not intend to break his wrist; I simply meant to disarm him. I slapped the gun out of line and cracked his wrist with my cane. I caught the gun, shoved it into my p-suit belt, went forward, and collapsed in my seat. I did not know that I had hurt him, other than a bruise, maybe.
But I feel no trace of remorse. If you don't want a broken wrist, don't wave a gun in my face. Not when I'm tired and excited.
Then I pulled myself together and tried to help Gwen and Bill.
I hate to tell about our fourth casualty: Igor O'Toole, the five-year-old.
Since the tad was on a back seat with his mother, it is certain that he was not killed by anyone from the rolligon; the angle would have been impossible. Only the two gunners of the superdoughnut were up high enough to shoot in through the driver's port of Hear Me and hit someone clear at the back. Furthermore it had to be the second gunner; the first gunner had kept busy killing bushwhackers. Then the doughnut turned, I saw this gun leveled at us, saw its flash just about as I fired and killed him.
I thought he had missed. If he was firing at me, he did miss. I'm not sure he was aiming carefully as who would aim at the least likely target?-a child, a baby really, clear at the back of the bus. But the flash I saw had to be the bolt that killed Igor.
Had it not been for Igor's death I might have had mixed feelings about the crew of the giant doughnut-we certainly could not have won without their help. But that last shot convinces me that they were just killing off business competitors before getting to their main purpose, hijacking the Hear Me.
My only regret is that I did not kill the fourth doughnut rider.
But these were afterthoughts. What we saw at the time was simply a dead child. We straightened up from dealing with Auntie and looked around. Ekaterina was sitting quietly, holding the body of her son. I had to look twice to realize what had happened. But a p-suit does not hold a living child when the face plate is burned away. I hopped toward her; Gwen reached her first. I stopped behind Gwen; Lady Diana grabbed my sleeve, said something.
I touched my helmet to hers. "What did you say?"
"I told you to tell the driver to drive on! Can't you understand plain English?"
I wish she had said it to Gwen; Gwen's replies are more imaginative than mine and much more lyrical. All I could manage, tired as I was, was: "Oh, shut up and sit down, you silly slitch." I did not wait for an answer.
Lady Dee went forward, where Bill kept her from disturbing Auntie. I didn't see this, as just then, while I leaned forward to try to see what had happened to the consort who had (I was still to learn) killed himself with his p-suit, his co-husband attempted to recover that gun from me.
In the course of the tussle I grabbed his (broken) wrist. I could not hear him scream or see his expression, but he did an amazing piece of extemporaneous Method acting that let me know the agony he was in.
All I can say is: Don't wave guns in my face. It brings out the worst in me.
I went back to Gwen and that poor mother, touched my helmet to Gwen's. "Anything we can do for her?"
"No. Nothing till we get her in to pressure. Not much then."
"How about the other two?" I suppose they were crying but when you can't hear it or see it, what can you do?
"Richard, I think the best we can do is to leave this family alone. Keep an eye on them but let them be. Until we reach Kong."
"Yes-Kong. Who is Taddie?"
"What?"
"Aunt Lilybet said, Taddie can drive.'"
"Oh. I think she meant the turret gunner. Her nephew."
So that's why I climbed up to check the turret. I had to go outside to get up there, which I did-cautiously. But we had been correct-all dead. And so was our turret gunner, Taddie. I climbed down, then back up into the passenger compartment, got my three together-told them we had no relief driver.
I asked, "Bill, can you drive?"
"No, I can't, Senator. This is the first time in my life I've ever been in one of these things."
"I was afraid of that. Well, it's been some years since I've driven one but I know how, so- Oh, Jesus! Gwen, / can't."
•Trouble, dear?"
I sighed. "You steer this thing with your feet. I'm shy one foot-it's sitting over there by my seat. There is no way in the world I can put it on... and no way in the world I can drive with just one foot."
She answered soothingly, "That's all right, dear. You handle the radio-we'll need some Maydays, I think. While I drive."
"You can drive this behemoth?"
"Certainly. I didn't want to volunteer, with you two men here. But I'll be happy to drive. Two more hours, about. Easy."
Three minutes later Gwen was checking the controls; I was seated beside her, figuring out how to jack my suit into the bus's radio. Two of those minutes had been spent delegating Bill as master at arms with orders to keep Lady Dee in her seat. She had come forward again, with firm instructions about how things were to be done. Seems she was in a hurry- something about a directors' meeting in Ell-Four. So we must drive fast, make up for lost time.
This time I did get to hear Gwen's comment. It was heartwarming. Lady Dee gasped, especially when Gwen told her what to do with her proxies, after she folded them until they were all sharp comers.
Gwen let in the clutches, the Hear Me shook, then backed, swung past the other rolligon, and we were away. I finally punched the right buttons on the radio, tuned it to what I thought was the right channeclass="underline"
"-o, M, F, I, E, S speUs 'Comfies!' the perfect answer to the stresses of modern living! Don't take the cares of business home with you. Take comfort from Comfies, the scientific stomach boon therapists prescribe more than any other-"