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Now, we might be smart enough to get through. A few more days out there won't hurt. How about it, Frank?" "Ten hours sleep and breakfast," Frank said. "Then a little camouflage material, new weapons, a pair of Archers in condition got any left?" "Five in stock," Joe answered. "Settled, then?" Art asked. "Here, it is," Ramos answered, and Nelsen nodded.
Streamlining, in the vacuum, of course wasn't necessary, either. Now a small, sharp-featured man in an Archie, drifted close to Ramos and Frank, as they floated near their bubbs. "Hello, Ramos, hello, Nelsen," he said. "Yes we know your names. We investigate, beforehand, down on terra firma. We even have people to snap photographs often you don't even notice.
Venus' escape velocity is almost as high as Earth's. Boosting a corpse up into orbit, just for atmospheric cremation, would have been too much of a waste for the Expedition's rigid economy." Nelsen had never really been very close to Charlie Reynolds, though he had liked the flamboyant Good Guy. Now, it was all a long ways back, besides. Nelsen didn't feel exactly grief.
Unless the fact that it was also the substance of Saturn's Rings made a difference. Saturn another of the great, cold, largely gaseous planets, where it would perhaps always be utterly futile for a man to try to land... Ramos, the little Mex who chased the girls. Ramos, the hero, the historical figure, now... Cursing under his breath, Nelsen wandered vaguely to The Second Stop.
So, Out There, in order to have a reasonable chance, I'll have to be following somebody smart. I thought I'd fix it now beforehand. You're the best, Frank." Nelsen felt the scared earnestness of the appeal, and the achy shock of the compliment. But in his own uncertainty, he didn't want to be carrying any dead weight, in the form of a dependent individual. "Thanks, Two-and-Two," he said.
There wasn't any sign of trouble except that the TV channel went dead for a second, until a stand by commercial with singing cartoon figures cut in. But Frank Nelsen somehow put his hands to his head, as if to protect it. Mitch Storey, with a big piece of stellene in his brown mitts, stood up very straight. Gimp, at a bench, handed a tiny capacitor to Eileen, and started counting, slow and even.
They won't let me just sit... For two bits, though, I'd move into a nice, safe orbit, out of the Belt and on the other side of the sun from the Earth, and build myself a retreat and retire. I'd become a spacewoman, like I wanted to, in the first place." "I'll bet," Nelsen joshed. "Otherwise, what have you heard and seen? There's a certain fella..." Right away, she thought he meant Ramos.
Nelsen was very pleased that Miss Parks was here. He told her so. He stayed for cakes and coffee. He told her that it was quite right for her to keep up with the times. He believed this, himself... Afterwards, though, in his own quarters, he began to laugh. Her presence was so incongruous, so fantastic... His laughter became wild. Then it changed to great rasping hiccups.
But later, riding in to Post Three, just in an Archer Six, with a couple of guards for company, he picked up a long-lost voice, falsely sweet, then savage at the end: "I'm a Jinx, aren't I, Frankie? A vulture. Nice and cavalier, you are. I bet you hoped I was dead. Okay Sucker...!" Tiflin didn't even answer when Nelsen tried to beam him. Nelsen was able to save Post Three.
"He's your historian-secretary and treasurer." Frank Nelsen came out of his attitude of observation enough to warn, "That much we've got, if we want as many as twelve Archies. And a little better than a thousand dollars more, left over from the prize money."
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