"Not hurt. Seams open, and there goes Sears' thirty-six-hour test for
air-borne bacteria. Down and safe, Ed."
"Listen." In relief, Ed Spearman was heavily didactic again. "You are
three quarters of a mile inside the jungle. I will land near the
woods. It will be dark in about an hour. Wait there until we----"
"One minute," Paul said in sudden exhaustion. "We can find you,
easier. Sears' test is important. We're already exposed to the air,
but----"
"What? Can't hear--damn it----" The voice dimmed and crackled.
"Stay sealed up!" Nothing. "Can you hear?" Nothing. "Oh, well, good,"
said Paul, discarding the headset, adding foolishly: "I'm tired."
Dorothy unfastened his straps; her kiss was warm and quick.
"Radio kaput, huh?" Wright flexed lean cautious legs. "Pity. I did
want to tell Sears one I just remembered after eleven years, about
poor lackadaisical Lou, who painted her torso bright blue, not for
love, not for money, not because it looked funny, but simply for
something to do."
"You're not hurt, Doc," Dorothy said. "Not where it counts."
"Can't kill an anthropologist. Ask my student Paul Mason. Leather
hides, pickled in a solution ten parts curiosity to one of statistics.
Doctors are mighty viable too. Ask my student Dorothy Leeds."