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Updated: May 29, 2025
He was weary from having carried Steve so long. He put the sleeping form down against a window-seat facing one of the viewscreens, and said to Rat, "You stay here and keep watch. If anyone wants to know who he is, tell them the truth." "Right enough." Alan found Art Kandin where he expected to find him in the Central Control Room, posting work assignments for the blastoff tomorrow.
That was practically a snail's pace, compared with hyperdrive. The time for the test had come. He spoke briefly with his friends and assistants in the control tower; then he checked his figures through one last time and requested blastoff clearance. A moment later the count-down began, and he began setting up for departure.
Still, the mere fact that a companion could return, after defeat, helped brace their uncertain morale. "I'll order you a blastoff ticket, Les," Frank Nelsen said. "In one of the two GOs ground-to-orbit rockets reserved for us. The space is still there..." David Lester had won a battle. He meant to win through, completely. Perhaps some of this determination was transmitted to the others.
Being a freak wasn't going to be much fun. He saw the girl again next day, when they checked in for blastoff. She was seated at a small desk, triangular like so much of the Lhari furniture, checking a register as they came out of the Decontam room, making sure they downed their greenish solution of microorganisms. "Papers, please?" She marked, and Bart noticed that she was using a red pencil.
But it might as well mean go! glory, or gallows, he thought. The trucks reached the gate. The Bunch met the bored and cynical reception committee a half-dozen U.S.S.F. men in radiation coveralls. Each of the Bunch held his blastoff ticket, his space-fitness and his equipment-inspection cards meekly in sweaty fingers.
Ahead, he knew, the viewscreen lenses would be active; if one of them picked him up, it would be quite a jolt to the men inside the ship ... but it would be the end of his free ride. But the major peril was the blastoff. Once the engines cut off, the ship would be in free fall. Then he could cling easily to the hull, walk all over it if he chose to, with the aid of his boots and hand-pads.
Very soon the blastoff and the accelleration would begin. He had a few moments to find a position of safety, no more. Quickly, he began scrambling toward the rear of the Ranger's hull, hugging the metal sides, moving sideways like a crab.
The meat was packed in huge open receptacles which were flooded just before blastoff; before the meat had any chance to spoil, the lock was opened, the air fled into space and the compartment's heat radiated outward. The water froze solid, preserving the meat. It was just as efficient as building elaborate refrigeration coils, and a good deal simpler.
"Sorry, Max, but you're wasting your time by waiting. The Valhalla has to be readied for blastoff, and once I check in aboard ship I can't come back to visit. So this is goodbye, right here." "We'll see about that," Hawkes said. "Ten to one odds." "Ten to one," Alan said. "And you've lost your bet."
But unless he found a way to anchor himself firmly to the hull during blastoff, he could be flung off like a pebble. He heard a whirring sound, and saw the magnetic mooring cables jerk. The ship was preparing for blastoff. Automatic motors were drawing the cables and grappling plates into the hull. Moving quickly, Tom reached the rear cable.
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