"Going to die, Johnson. Tricked you. Can't get back, Johnson. Not ever.
No fuel. Ha, you can't ever go home again, Johnson. Like that, you
damned runny-nosed little poet?"
His dark face worked weakly.
Ha, he sure as thunderation _didn't_ like it.
He asked for the bloody details and I fed them to him.
"Turning back, aren't you?" I jeered.
"I just wanted a place and a time for thinking," he said across the
Solar System. "But I'll die and I don't know if you can dream in death."
"Just what I thought," I sneered.
"I'm not turning back," he said slowly. "People need me. I've got a job
to do. Haven't I? Haven't I?"
"_No_," I screamed at him. "You're just using that as an excuse to kill
yourself. Don't try to tell me you're not weak! Don't you try to make me
think you're strong! Hear me, Johnson, hear me?"
But he couldn't hear me.
One of the government technicians had broken the contact before that
last spurt.
* * * * *
"This is good," Madison said, pawing fuzzily at his pocket.
"Really--_good_."
I studied the three or four watchdials wobbling up and down my elongated
wrist. They seemed to say it was almost sunrise.