Farnham's Freehold by Robert A. Heinlein Page A

dust filters out of sheets in the door—better than nothing. We still have one radio—the one you mistook for a hearing aid, Barbara. I wrapped it and put it away; it wasn’t hurt. I’ll go outside and put up an antenna and we can listen to it down here; it could save us. We’ll rig a flagpole, from the sides of a bunk perhaps, and fly a flag. A hunting shirt. No, the American flag; I’ve got one. If we don’t make it, we’ll go down with our colors flying!”
    Karen started clapping. “Don’t scoff, Karen.”
    “I’m not scoffing, Daddy! I’m crying. ‘The rockets’ red glare—the bombs bursting in air—gave proof through the night—that our flag was still—’ ” Her voice broke and she buried her face in her hands.
    Barbara put an arm around her. Hugh Farnham went on as if nothing had happened. “But we won’t go down. Soon they will search this area for survivors. They’ll see our flag and take us out—helicopter, probably.
    “So our business is to be alive when they come.” He stopped to think. “No unnecessary work, no exercise. Sleeping pills for everybody and try to sleep twelve hours a day and lie down all the time; it will make the air last as long as possible. The only work is to repair that blower and we’ll knock that off if we can’t fix it. Let’s see—Water must be rationed. Duke, you are water marshal. See how much pure water there is; work out a schedule to stretch it. There is a one-ounce glass with the medicines; use it to dispense water. That’s all, I guess: repair the blower, minimum exercise, maximum sleep, rationed water. Oh, yes! Sweat is wasteful. It’s still hot and, Barbara, you’ve sweat right through that sack. Take it off.”
    “May I leave the room?”
    “Certainly.” She left, walking carefully on the steep floor, went into the tank room, and returned wearing her soaked underwear. “That’s better,” he approved. “Now—”
    “Hubert! Hubert! Where are you? I’m thirsty.”
    “Duke, give her one ounce. Charge it to her.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Don’t forget that the cat has to have water.”
    “The dirty water, maybe?”
    “Hmm. We won’t die through playing fair with our guest. Let’s keep our pride.”
    “He’s been drinking the dirty water.”
    “Well—You boss it. Suggestions, anyone? Joe, do the plans suit you?”
    “Well—No, sir.”
    “So?”
    “No exercise, least oxygen used, makes sense. But when it comes time to open the door, where are we?”
    “We take our chances.”
    “I mean, can we? Short on air, panting, thirsty, maybe sick—I’d like to be certain that anyone, Karen say, with a broken arm, can get that door open.”
    “I see.”
    “I’d like to try all three doors. I’d like to leave the armor door open. A girl can’t handle that crank. I volunteer to try the upper door.”
    “Sorry, it’s my privilege. I go along with the rest. That’s why I asked for suggestions. I’m tired, Joe; my mind is fuzzy.”
    “And if the doors are blocked? Probably rubble against the upper door—”
    “We have the jack.”
    “Well, if we can’t use the doors, we should make sure of the escape tunnel. Duke’s shoulder isn’t so good. My ribs are sore but I can work—today. Tomorrow Duke and I will be stiff and twice as sore. There are those steel bottles cluttering the hatch and plunder stored in the hole. Takes work. Boss, I say we’ve got to be sure of our escape—while we’re still in pretty good shape.”
    “I hate to order heavy work. But you’ve convinced me.” Hugh stood up, suppressing a groan. “Let’s get busy.”
    “I’ve got one more suggestion.”
    “So?”
    “You ought to sack in. You haven’t been to bed at all and you got banged up pretty hard.”
    “I’m okay. Duke has a bad shoulder, you’ve got cracked ribs. And there’s heavy work to be done.”
    “I plan to use block and tackle to skid those bottles aside. Barbara can help. She’s husky, for a girl.”
    “Certainly I can,”