They finished the check; all the complex machinery of Baggy-Drawers was functioning perfectly. Then Instrument Check—Methodically, Johnny's gauntleted mitts touched each magnetic hook on the wide girdle, named each implement suspended from it, replaced it.

"Can I go out and play now?"

"Be a good boy, Johnny."

The lock hissed, cycled down, and then Thorn was hearing the metallic noises of Johnny's feet striding ponderously like some story-book Colossus along the "upper" hull, sternward, and then to port.

"Be a cinch, Josh," the audio crackled. "If they're all this easy I'll feel like a draft-dodger! Maybe if I swab the deck while I'm ou—" A sound that wasn't Johnny but it was.

"Johnny? Johnny, do you read me?" Josh Thorn could feel sweat dripping on his stomach. "Johnny—"

He left the mike, made his way aft in clumsy haste, the simulated gravity confusing long-conditioned reflexes. And he listened beneath the hull section over which Johnny would be. Listened for a thump, a scrape of metal on metal, a vibration of life....

Nothing.

His own Baggy-Drawers seemed built for a midget with one leg as he struggled into it. Cursory check—enough, she worked, she'd have to....

Out. Aft. Port. Johnny....

Johnny Streeter was still standing, but it was an odd kind of stance; the stance of a marionette on slack strings. Motionless. Standing by the reflector mast, some of his magnetized instruments clinging to it.

And then he saw Johnny Streeter's helmet, and saw that it was no longer transparent. Josh tasted vomit on his lips.

A chance in how many million, how many billion? What was it the statisticians had said? About the same chance as a fatal auto accident, having a meteor hit you....

Equipment converted, recalibrated for Earthside observation. Equipment checked. Emergency reflectors out (power drain still damned heavy) and radar full out; close-down scanners on, recording equipment humming, ready.... Coast coming up in—oh-nine minutes, three-seven seconds. Tapes ready at play-back, UHF set.

Now wait.

You can watch while you wait....

His 

 Prev. P 8/16 next