Skeleton Crew

He shook these thoughts away. It helped to look back toward the ship.

'There isn't going to be any cavalry,' Rand said. 'The sand will cover us and after a while we'll be the sand and the sand will be us. Surf City with no surf—can you catch that wave, Bill?' And Shapiro was scared because he could catch it. You couldn't see all those dunes without getting it.

'Fucking dronehead asshole,' he said. He went back to the ship.

And hid from the beach.

Sunset finally came. The time when, at the beach—any real beach—you were supposed to put away the volleyball and put on your sweats and get out the weenies and the beer. Not time to start necking yet, but almost. Time to look forward to the necking.

Weenies and beer had not been a part of ASN/29's stores.

Shapiro spent the afternoon carefully bottling all of the ship's water. He used a porta-vac to suck up that which had run out of the ruptured veins in the ship's supply system and puddled on the floor. He got the small bit left in the bottom of the shattered hydraulic system's water tank.

He did not overlook even the small cylinder in the guts of the air-purification system which circulated ah- in the storage areas.

Finally, he went into Grimes's cabin.

Grimes had kept goldfish in a circular tank constructed especially for weightless conditions. The tank was built of impact-resistant clear-polymer plastic, and had survived the crash easily. The goldfish—like their owner—had not been impact-resistant. They floated in a dull orange clump at the top of the ball, which had come to rest under Grimes's bunk, along with three pairs of very dirty underwear and half a dozen porno holograph-cubes.

He held the globe aquarium for a moment, looking fixedly into it. 'Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well,' he said suddenly, and laughed a screaming, distracted laugh. Then he got the net Grimes kept in his lockbin and dipped it into the tank. He removed the fish and then wondered what to do with them. After a moment he took them to Grimes's bed and raised his pillow.

There was sand underneath.

He put the fish there regardless, then carefully poured the water into the jemcan he was using as a catcher. It would all have to be purified, but even if the purifiers hadn't been working, he thought that in another couple of days he wouldn't balk at drinking aquarium water just because it might have a few loose scales and a little goldfish shit in it.

He purified the water, divided it, and took Rand's share back up the side of the dune.

Rand was right where he had been, as if he had never moved.

'Rand. I brought you your share of the water.' He unzipped the pouch on the front of Rand's EP suit and slipped the flat plastic flask inside. He was about to press the zip-strip closed with his thumbnail when Rand brushed his hand away. He took the flask out. Stenciled on the front was ASM/CLASS SHIP'S SUPPLIES STORAGE FLASK CL. #23196755 STERILE WHEN SEAL is UNBROKEN The seal was broken now, of course; Shapiro had had to fill the bottle up.

'I purified—' Rand opened his fingers. The flask fell into the sand with a soft plop. 'Don't want it.'

'Don't... Rand, what's wrong with you? Jesus Christ, will you stop it?' Rand did not reply.

Shapiro bent over and picked up storage flask #23196755. He brushed off the grains of sand clinging to the sides as if they were huge, swollen germs.

'What's wrong with you?' Shapiro repeated. 'Is it shock?

Do you think that's what it is? Because I can give you a pill …or a shot. But it's getting to me, I don't mind telling you. You just standing out here looking at the next forty miles of nothing! It's sand! Just sand!'

'It's a beach,' Rand said dreamily. 'Want to make a sand castle?'

'Okay, good,' Shapiro said. 'I'm going to go get a needle and an amp of Yellowback. If you want to act like a goddam dronehead, I'll treat you like one.'

'If you try to inject me with something, you better be quiet when you sneak up behind me,' Rand said mildly. 'Otherwise, I'll break your arm.' He could do it, too. Shapiro, the astrogator, weighed a hundred and forty pounds and stood five-five. Physical combat was not his specialty. He grunted an oath and turned away, back to the ship, holding Rand's flask.

'I think it's alive,' Rand said. 'I'm actually pretty sure of it.' Shapiro looked back at him and then out at the dunes. The sunset had given them a gold filigree at their smooth, sweeping caps, a filigree that shaded delicately down to the blackest ebony in the troughs; on the next dune, ebony shaded back to gold. Gold to black. Black to gold.

Gold to black and black to gold and gold to—Shapiro blinked his eyes rapidly, and rubbed a hand over them.

'I have several times felt this particular dune move under my feet,' Rand told Shapiro. 'It moves very gracefully. It is like feeling the tide. I can smell its smell on the air, and the smell is like salt.'

'You're crazy,' Shapiro said. He was so terrified that he felt as if his brains had turned to glass.

Rand did not reply. Rand's eyes searched the dunes, which went from gold to black to gold to black in the sunset.

Shapiro went back to the ship.

Rand stayed on the dune all night, and all the next day.

Shapiro looked out and saw him. Rand had taken off his EP suit, and the sand had almost covered it. Only one sleeve stuck out, forlorn and supplicating. The sand above and below it reminded Shapiro of a pair of lips sucking with a toothless greed at a tender morsel. Shapiro felt a crazy desire to pelt up the side of the dune and rescue