Now do we have it straight--? I take the
flitter, get a Medic and bring him back?"
Dane cut in at that point. "Correct course! You stay here. If the Queen
has to lift, you're the only one who can take her off world. And the
same's true for Ali. I can't ride out a blast-off in either the pilot's
or the engineer's seat. And Weeks is on the sick list. So I'm elected to
do the Medic hunting--"
They were forced to agree to that. He was no hero, Dane thought, as he
gave a last glance about his cabin early the next morning. The small
cubby, utilitarian and bare as it was, never looked more inviting or
secure. No, no hero, it was merely a matter of common sense. And although
his imagination--that deeply hidden imagination with which few of his
fellows credited him--shrank from the ordeal ahead, he had not the
slightest intention of allowing that to deter him.
The space suit, which had been bulky and clumsy enough on the E-Stat
asteroid under limited gravity, was almost twice as poorly adapted to
progression on earth. But he climbed into it with Rip's aid, while Ali
lashed a second suit under the seat--ready to encase the man Dane must
bring back with him.
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