"Eh?" Van Dellen asked. "Oh. I see what you mean. Chuck!" he called a
sailor. "Break out the Commander's capsules. Pass the word to stand by
for ejection."
The Commander was fitted, puffing, into the capsule. He growled at the
storekeeper: "You sure this was just unsealed? It feels sticky already."
A brash jayee said: "I saw it unsealed myself three minutes ago,
Commander. It'll get stickier if we spend any more time talking. You
have"--he glanced at his chronometer--"seventeen minutes now. Let me
snap you in."
The Commander huddled down after a searching glance at the jayee's face
which photographed it forever in his memory. The top snapped down. Some
day--some happy day--that squirt would very much regret telling him off.
He gave an okay sign to Van Dellen who waved back meagerly and managed a
smile. Three crewmen fitted the capsule into its lock.
Foomf!
It was through the hatch and bobbing on the surface. Its color matched
the water's automatically. Grinnel waggled the lever that aimed it
inshore and began to turn the propellor crank. He turned fast; the
capsule--rudders, crank, flywheel, shaft and all--would dissolve in
approximately fifteen minutes. It was his job to be ashore when that
happened.
And ashore he'd be practically a free agent with the loosest sort of
roving commission, until January 15th. Then his orders became most
specific.