Captain Daniel Peters paced agitatedly back and forth before the
couch holding that still figure in its bulky helmet. The last glow of
the sunset had vanished behind the trees around the clearing minutes
before. Peters took three puffs from a just-ignited cigarette, then
crushed the white cylinder under his heel.
"Sir?" said a man at the airlock of the ship.
Peters looked up swiftly, and identified the speaker as the technician
for the Contact mechanism.
"How's it going?" he asked, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact.
"First report's just come in," said the man, with a brief smile.
"Information's being coded onto a new card for the roborocket index. I
guess Norcriss came through the Contact all right. His life-pulse still
shows on the panel. It was flickering badly for a few minutes, though.
Think I should terminate?"
Peters hesitated, then shook his head. "No, I guess not. They tell me
there are no after-effects to even a hazardous Contact. Norcriss'll be
wanting to get on with it ... poor devil," he added, with a wry smile
that touched only his lips, didn't reach his eyes. "Proceed, seaman."
The other man nodded, and vanished within the ship....