"Releasing." The amused voice was Paul's own. "Good luck, Ed."
No answer. There was still such a thing as time. _Now, look: the
Federation was a grand thing, potentially, if only, as Doc insists, it
weren't for the damned cultural lag of the humanistic sciences, but
there is unfortunately no TIME to turn around and see if that little
brown cowlick is over her forehead the way it_----Meantime he said
aloud, "Doc, Dorothy, get ready for a big one." And his hand pulled
for release--nicely, as you might steer a road car for a turn. The
pressure torment....
Finished. He looked at a friendly green eye. So the retractile wings
were as good as eleven years ago--you hoped. Atmosphere--thin, said
the gauge. Never mind, thicker soon. _And down you go_----
_Too steep. Level off, if there's stuff to bite on. There is.... Thank
you, Machine Age Man, for a sweet boat. That thing gibbering in the
autonomic and voluntary nervous systems--merely fear. Overlook it...._
The ship was alien, far away. Turning, bright and deliberate, like a
mirror dropped in a well. The other lifeboat? But Ed would have to
reach it, close lock, strap in, open shield, while the ship went....
"Down"--lately an artificiality, now the plainest word in the
language. A gleaming disturbance in the air "down" yonder--something
streaking away from the dot that was a dying ship? "Ed, can you hear
me? Over."
"Yes," said the voice in the earphones.