"How bad?"
"He hasn't blacked out yet. The pains in his head are pretty bad and his
hand is swelling--"
"He's given us our proof. Tell him to report off--"
But the disembodied voice which answered that was Weeks'.
"I haven't got it as bad as the others. I'll ride this out."
Rip shook his head. But short-handed as they were he could not argue
Weeks away from his post if the man insisted upon staying. He had other,
and for the time being, more important matters before him.
How long they sweated out that descent upon their native world Dane could
never afterwards have testified. He only knew that hours must have
passed, until he thought groggily that he could not remember a time he
was not glued in the seat which had been Tang's, the earphones pressing
against his sweating skull, his fatigue-drugged mind being held with
difficulty to the duty at hand.
Sometime during that haze they made their landing. He had a dim memory of
Rip sprawled across the pilot's control board and then utter exhaustion
claimed him also and the darkness closed in. When he roused it was to
look about a cabin tilted to one side.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221