"Bad," the voice said. "He must have taken enough roentgens of gamma and
neutrons to reach or exceed the median-lethal dose."
Rip found his voice again. "Santos," he said urgently. "On the asteroid.
He got it, too. The rest were shielded. Get him. Quick!"
MacFife snapped orders. The ball-bat would have Santos in the ship within
minutes. Being sick in a space suit was about the most unpleasant thing
that could happen to anyone.
A hypospray tingled against Rip’s arm. The drug penetrated, caught a quick
lift to all parts of his body through his bloodstream. Consciousness slid
away.