Godspeed by Charles Sheffield

of the far-off ground, and a random thought— Ridiculous. I want to be a spacer, and I'm scared of heights!— and then I focused all my attention on Paddy Enderton. He was a few rungs below me, clinging to the ladder. His usually pale face wore a tinge of unnatural purplish-blue. His backpack of equipment, hooked around his great shoulders, was just close enough for me to grab the top straps, and hoist. Twenty seconds later we were lying head to head, panting and shuddering on the narrow balcony at the top of the water tower.
    Paddy Enderton had his faults—more of them than I knew at the time—but lack of willpower was not on the list. While I still thought that he was dying he was heaving himself upright, gazing across the lake towards Muldoon Port.
    "Ah," he said. "Ah." His breath was a series of short, rattling gasps, enough for only brief, jerky speech fragments. "Right enough. Muldoon. Maybe. Maybe."
    He gestured to me to help him, and began taking parts of the telecon from our packs. In his shaking hands the tubes seemed to join themselves. The skeleton was assembled in a couple of minutes, while I did nothing but sit and watch.
    Last of all, Enderton lifted the twin eyepieces. He peered into them, out across the lake. And then he gave a whistling groan, as though all the air had gone from his lungs at once.
    "It happened," he said. "Happened already. I'm a dead man."
    He leaned back against the bulk of the water tank and laid the eyepieces on the balcony. I grabbed them and lifted them to my own eyes, their metal rims freezing cold against my unprotected face.
    Muldoon Port was clearly visible, all the way to the ground as I had suggested. From the despairing tone in Enderton's voice I had almost expected the two-half-man to spring into view, a man without arms carrying a legless one on his back. But there was nothing unusual about Muldoon Port. It was quiet and peaceful, with only a handful of people walking between the buildings. Then I realized that was unusual. When I had last been there the port had hummed with life; now it was almost empty.
    Winterfall. It had been and gone.
    I was still staring when Enderton grabbed the viewing tubes from me again and rotated the assembly. From the direction that he pointed I knew what he must be doing. He was following the shore line, tracking the road leading out of Muldoon Port around the southern end of the lake toward Toltoona.
    "Nothing to see," he muttered after a few seconds. "But nothing means nothing. They'll know how to follow. They'll be on the way. It could be any time."
    Again the eyepieces were laid on the balcony, while Enderton stood up and leaned dangerously over the rail. He stared, first south to Toltoona, then away in the opposite direction along the line of the lake.
    "The shore road," he said abruptly. "How does it run north of here? Does it carry on right around?"
    "Not close to the lake. It goes off west, then curves round to the Tullamore bridge. I've never been there, but it's on Doctor Eileen's rounds. She says it gets just about impossible in deep snow."
    Enderton said not another word, but he grabbed the telecon, took it apart, and stuffed all the pieces that we had both struggled to carry up into one backpack. I didn't see any way that a single person could manage the whole thing. It was only when he set his foot on the first step of the ladder that I realized we weren't going to.
    "The telecon!" I said.
    "Safe enough up here." He was already three rungs down. "It's yours. You can get it any time you fancy. Come on."
    I had no idea what he was doing, but I didn't want to stay on top of that water tower a second longer than necessary. The sun was low in the sky, a north wind was rising, and the air was becoming colder and colder. I took a last look at the precious telecon, sitting wedged on the balcony, then hefted my empty backpack and followed him. I didn't look at anything, and especially I didn't look down. But I could hear Enderton below