"I'm not dead?"

"Sorry, but if I'm any judge of age, you'll have to wait at least

another fifty years."

"I can't move.  My legs feel like they're pinned.  I think they might be

broken.  Please . . . please get me out."

"That's why I'm here," said Simon cheerfully.  He used his hands to

scoop a good foot of ice and snow away from Rubin's upper torso until

the trapped arms came free.  "There, now you can scratch your nose until

I return with a shovel and cutting tools."

Simon reentered the main cabin as Pitt was easing the flight attendant

through the door into the waiting arms of Gale's medics, who gently

lowerrd her onto a stretcher.

"Hey, Doc, I've got a live one in the cockpit."

"On my way," replied Gale.

"I could use your help too," Simon said to Pitt.

Pitt nodded.  "Give me a couple of minutes to carry another from the aft

section."

Hala slid to her knees and leaned over and looked into the mirror. There

was enough light to clearly see her reflection. The face that stared

back was flat-eyed and expressionless.  It was also a disaster.  She

looked like an over-the-hill streetwalker who had been beaten up by her

pimp.

She reached out and pulled several paper towels from a rack.  She dipped

them in the cold water, then wiped clear the clotted blood and lipstick

which had smeared around her mouth.  Her mascara and eye shadow looked

as if they had been applied by Jackson Pollock on a drip painting.  She

wiped away that mess too.  Her hair was still reasonably intact so she

patted the loose ends into place.

She still looked awful, she thought despairingly.  She forced a smile

when Pitt reappeared, hoping she looked more presentable.

. He looked at her a long moment and then screwed his face into an

expression of awed curiosity.  "Excuse me, gorgeous creature, but have

you seen an old crone anywhere?"

Tears welled in Hala's eyes and she half-laughed, halfcried.  "You're a

nice man, Mr. Pitt.  Thank you."

"I try, God Icnows I try," he said humorously.

Pitt had returned with several blankets and he bundled them around her.

He placed one arm under her knees and the other around her waist and

lifted her without the slightest sign of strain.  As he carried her up

the aisle his numbed legs began to give out and he stumbled for several

steps before recovering.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Nothing a shot of Jack Daniel's Tennessee whiskey won't cure."

"As soon as I return home I'll send you a whole case."

"Where's home?"

"At the moment, New York."

"Next time I'm in town, let's have dinner together."

"I'd consider it an honor, Mister Pitt."

"Likewise, Miss Kaniil."

Hala raised her eyebrows.  "You recognized me, looking horrible like

this?"

"I admit it wasn't until after you'd fixed your face a bit."

"Forgive me for putting you to all this trouble.  Your legs and feet