"Well, sir--"
"Never mind now. You may have encountered oxygen or hydrogen-rich
atmosphere--melted your compressor blades. Try an air start on straight
rocket. I want that ship back, Brandon. Repeat, I want that ship back!"
"I may be able to ride it down. Get it on the deck intact."
"Try an air start, Brandon." Towers leaned forward, his eyes fixed on
Brandon. "I don't want you to set foot on that planet, get me?"
But there wasn't time to try anything. The cabin was filling with fumes.
Brandon looked down. A fringe of blue flame crept along between the
floor and the bottom of the pilot's capsule. A cold ache filled the
cavity of his stomach.
"Too late. I'm on fire! Capsuling out. Repeat, capsuling out."
"Brandon--!"
The colonel's glaring face flicked off as Brandon pushed the
pre-ejection lever into the lock position severing all connections
between the ship and the pilot's capsule. Brandon had a strange,
detached feeling as he pushed the ejection button.
There was an explosion and the pilot's capsule shot up like a wet bar of
soap squeezed out of a giant's hand.
The ship turned into a torch and sank beneath him. Brandon closed his
eyes for a moment.
When he opened them he was staring at the Milky Way, then the desert as
he tumbled over and over. He talked to the Milky Way.
"Ten seconds. Should wait at least ten seconds before releasing the
drogue chute so I'll clear the ship." Then he spoke to the desert. "And
maybe another ten to give the capsule time to slow down."
He counted then pulled the chute release. Nylon streamed out behind him
and snapped open with a tremendous jar. A moment later, bundles of metal
ribbons floated out and billowed into a giant umbrella. The last thing
he remembered was the taste of blood on his lips.
When Brandon opened his eyes he was staring at the silvery disks of the
twin moons. They were high in the sky, obscuring the center of the Milky
Way. Funny he should be lying on his back looking at the sky, he
thought. Then he remembered.
The capsule was on its back and Brandon was still strapped securely to
the seat. His whole body ached. Tendons had been pulled, muscles
strained from the force of the ejection. His oxygen mask was still in
place, but his helmet hung partly loose. He adjusted it automatically,
then unbuckled the seat straps. He took a deep breath. Under the oxygen
mask, he was aware of dried blood clotted in his nostrils, caked around
the corners of his lips.
With an effort he sat up on the seat back and looked through the
perma-glas. A tangle of cords stretched out to the nylon of the main
chute draped over a dust dune. Beyond it he could see the gleaming metal
ribbons of the drogue chute.
Ahead of him, behind some low hills, he could see a dull red glow. The
ship, he thought. Astro may already be hovering over it.
He dragged the survival kit from behind the seat and pulled out some
rations, a first-aid kit, finally a tele-talkie. Raising the antenna, he
plugged in the mike cord from his mask and held down the "talk" key with
his thumb.
"Astro One, this is Brandon. Come in."
As he talked a picture flickered on the screen. It was the radio room on
Astro One. Colonel Towers was pacing back and forth in front of the
radioman.
"Shall I keep trying to raise him?" he heard Reinhardt ask.
"Damn fool stunt," Towers sputtered. "Know what I think? I think he went
down deliberately. Just to be the first human being to walk the ground
of a planet of another solar system."
"Astro, this is Brandon. Come in please."