ugout was Death's underground temple, the bed Death's altar, and the
woman Death's sacrifice. (Had I unconsciously come to worship Death as a
god in the Deathlands? I don't really know. There it gets too deep for
me.)

No, she didn't come within a million miles of my libido, but there was
another part of me that she was eating at ...

If guilt's a luxury, then I'm a plutocrat.

... eating at until I was an empty shell, until I had no props left,
until I wanted to die then and there, until I figured I had to die ...

There was a faint sharp hiss right at my elbow. I looked and found that,
unbeknownst to myself, I'd taken the steel cube out of my pocket and
holding it snuggled between my first and second fingers I'd punched the
button with my thumb just as I'd promised myself I would if I got to
really feeling bad.

It goes to show you that you should never give your mind any kind of
instructions even half in fun, unless you're prepared to have them
carried out whether you approve later or not.

Pop saw what I'd done and looked at me strangely. "So you had to die
after all, Ray," he said softly. "Most of us find out we have to, one
way or another."

We waited. Nothing happened. I noticed a very faint milky cloud a few
inches across hanging in the air by the cube.

Thinking right away of poison gas, I jerked away a little, dispersing
the cloud.

"What's that?" I demanded of no one in particular.

"I'd say," said Pop, "that that's something that squirted out of a tiny
hole in the side of the cube opposite the button. A hole so nearly
microscopic you wouldn't see it unless you looked for it hard. Ray, I
don't think you're going to get your baby A-blast, and what's more I'm
afraid you've wasted something that's damn valuable. But don't let it
worry you. Before I dropped those cubes for Atla-Hi I snagged one."

And darn if he didn't pull the brother of my cube out of his pocket.

"Alice," he said, "I noticed a half pint of whiskey in your satchel when
we got the salve. Would you put some on a rag and hand it to me."

Alice looked at him like he was nuts, but while her eyes were looking
her pliers and her gloved hand were doing what he told her.

Pop took the rag and swabbed a spot on the sick woman's nearest buttock
and jammed the cube against the spot and pushed the button.

"It's a jet hypodermic, folks," he said.

He took the cube away and there was the welt to substantiate his
statement.

"Hope we got