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Frank could feel how Tiflin shamed some of the quiver out of his own insides, and helped bring back pride and strength. The Far Side disaster had been pretty disturbing, however. And next day, Thursday, the blue envelopes came to the members of the Bunch. A printed card with a typed-in date, was inside each: "Report for space-fitness tests at Space-Medicine Center, February 15th..."
How long had it been since he had even beamed old Paul, in Jarviston...? Now that most of the Syrtis Fever had left him, it seemed futile even to consider such a thing. It involved memories buried in enormous time, distance, change, and unexpectedness. Glen Tiflin the sour, space-wild punk who had become a cop.
But there was a peculiar circumstance. The friction cover at one of its ends hung open. There was a trailing wisp of stellene part of the bubb packed inside and a thin, angry face with rather hysterical eyes, within the helmet of an Archer Five. "Shhh it ain't safe for me to come out yet," Glen Tiflin hissed threateningly. "Damn you all if you dare queer me...!" "Cripes another Jonah!"
The big Kuzaks, usually easy and steady and not too comical, both had a certain kind of expression, now like amused and secretive gorillas. Frank wasn't sure whether he got the meaning of this or not, but right then he felt sort of sympathetic to Tiflin, too. "I didn't hear anything; I won't say or do anything," he laughed. Afterwards, under the pressure of events, he forgot the whole matter.
I have an interested nature, but Tiflin never gave me anything but wisecracks. There are lots of Tovies around there's even a center for runaways. I don't ask questions of customers usually. And technically, all I can require of a comic is talent. This Igor had a certain kind. What is the difficulty now?" Frank Nelsen looked at Eileen almost wearily for a second.
"I promised myself I'd get you good, Tiflin! Now tell us what else you and your friends are cooking for us, or by the Big Silence, you'll be a drifting, explosively decompressed mummy!" Frank Nelsen didn't know till now, after exerting himself, how weak privations had made him. He felt dizzy. Tiflin's eyes had glazed slightly, as he and Frank did a slow roll, together. He gasped.
And how do you know if he wants to get sent back?" Mitch had removed Lester's helmet, too. Tiflin knelt. His arm moved with savage quickness. There was the crack of knuckles, in a rubberized steel-fabric space glove, against Lester's jaw. His hysterical eyes glazed and closed; his face relaxed. For a second of intolerable fury, Frank wanted to tear Tiflin apart. But Mitch half-grinned.
Bannon, whose expedition was even now exploring the gloomy cellar of Venus' surface, smothered in steam, carbon dioxide and poisonous formaldehyde. To Tiflin, as to the others, even such places were glamorous. But he wanted to be a big shot, too. It was like a compulsion. He was touchy and difficult. Three years back, he had been in trouble for breaking and entering.
Joe Kuzak's answering tone almost had a shrug in it. "Don't jinx our luck, twin brother," he said. "For that matter, how long will we last...? Mex, did you toss Tiflin back his shiv?" "A couple of hours ago," Ramos answered mildly.
Storey, Hollins and Tiflin all accomplished it. Even Gimp Hines rode behind Ramos in some very wild gyrations, though he didn't attempt to guide the scooter, himself. Then it was David Lester's turn. It was a foregone conclusion that he couldn't take the scooter up, alone. Palefaced, he rode double. Ramos was careful this time.
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