es.
Paralyzed as he was, he was fair game--his choice of words in the
thought brought a grimacing smile to his face. He tried once again--was
it the thousandth time yet?--to move his arms, his legs, his hands, a
finger, a toe. Earlier, he had thought he was moving the big toe on his
left foot, but he couldn't raise his head to see past the twisted bulk
of metal that lay across him, the toe had nothing to rub upon to give it
feeling, and there was absolutely no feeling between it and his head to
give it any meaning anyhow. But it would have been a nice feeling just
to know it was still there.

He gave up the attempt when sweat beaded out on his forehead and went
back to listening and praying. He was tempted to pray for the miracle
now, for blackness blotted out even the pitiful remains of the ship, and
the whine of the patrol had muted to a singing hum in the distance.

* * * * *

The night turned cold and damp, but Andy Larson, in his sheathing of
paralysis, didn't feel it. The loneliness was on him, the awesome
loneliness of having to wait for death alone, with no warm hand to hold
on to until the parting. He still felt no great fear or bitterness. Only
the loneliness, and sadness. He would never know his son, or daughter,
would never know that it loved him, that he was the biggest thing in its
life. And it--that was ugly; he would call it "he"; if he had a choice a
son it would be--he, his son, would never know his father, or how much
his father wanted to love him. And Elsie--how lonely it would be for
her. Her time must be getting close now, and she would be frightened.
The doctor hadn't told her what he had told him--that she was too
slight, definitely not built for child-bearing. But she knew. And she
would be brave, but frightened and alone.

The hours of night trudged by. The few stars that peeped through the
trees were no help in telling the time, and Andy had lost interest in it
anyhow. It was night, it had been night for what seemed like years,
the blackness around him proclaimed it would be night still for many
more years. He dozed off and on, at times waking with a start, thinking
he had heard something. For a few minutes he would listen intently,
feverishly. But when nothing reached his ears but the little night
sounds he had become accustomed to, he would sink back into the lethargy
that weighed upon his eyelids.

He wondered if he could be dying. He thought he was getti