Read Online Half Life by Hal Clement - Free Book Online Page A

fault, but there was no reason to suppose that anyone else could have avoided it; and the idea behind the old custom of a pilot’s flying, or a horseman’s riding, again as soon as possible after an accident was probably still valid even when the pilot wasn’t in the aircraft at the time.
    “Sure. I’m fresh enough. I’ll nap, though, during the preflight. Call me when she’s ready, will you, Ginger?”
    “Should I hurry?”
    “No!” Goodall was emphatic. “Theia hasn’t been flown at all yet. Cover everything on the checklist, and anything else you can think of. If Maria reports some other ground change we may have to hurry, but not unless or until. It’ll be two or three days before we’re at a radiation-minimum launch point, and we won’t wait that long; but since we’re heading toward one, we needn’t rush.”
    “I’ll be good,” Ginger lied. “Gene needn’t worry.”
    “Who worries?” asked Belvew. He received no answer, and relaxed in his suit. It seemed unlikely that there would be time enough to get out of it for a real nap, or even a video.
    This estimate, of course, was based on foreseeables, not on human behavior.
    The station was far too massive for anyone to feel the reaction when a person pushed off from or stopped against a wall, but the departure of Theia was noticed by everyone. It was also identifiable, since everyone had felt such shoves before.
    Reactions differed. Goodall and one or two others wondered momentarily whether they had been asleep and missed the end-of-checkout report. Peter Martucci’s movie-idol face made a wry grimace in the privacy of his quarters, as though something he had expected had happened in spite of his hopes. Dr.
    Lieutenant Colonel Sam Donabed gave a snort of irritation. Lieutenant Carla lePing shook her head disapprovingly.
    No one saw any of this, of course. Looking into someone else’s quarters was almost worse than entering them. Gene Belvew was, for a fraction of a second, the most surprised, and of course Ginger Xalco was the least.
    But Belvew was quick on the uptake.
    “Ginger! Why?”
    “My suit’s fullest, and it’ll save time.”
    “We don’t need to save time!”
    “Do you really know that? I certainly don’t!”
    “My suit was serviced almost as recently as yours,” Belvew tacitly conceded the other argument. “It has nearly as much life supply.”
    “And Status says I use less than three-quarters the food and oxygen you do, gorilla. Stop being futile; I’ve already cut speed.”
    Everyone by now understood the situation, but no one was ignorant enough to suggest, much less order, that the woman return the jet. There was no point in anyone’s making speeches about poor discipline. There was nothing to be done; Ginger was not merely flying Theia . She was riding the machine, physically on board. That was a point which had to be remembered consciously by everyone until, and if, she got back to the station.
    Instruments showed that she had already killed enough station orbital speed to take the craft into atmosphere, and used most of the little reaction water in Theia’s tanks to do so. Return was not physically possible until she had refilled on Titan.
    Nor was there any question of taking over from the rebel even if this had been useful. Her waldo suit was in the space designed for it on the jet, and any suit on board automatically had control priority unless the wearer deliberately ceded it. “Dead-man” override from outside was not possible; this was another of the unforeseen needs.
    However cheap construction and energy might have become, design had not; people charged more heavily than ever for their skilled services. Predictably, most structures and machines were now delivered with performance well short of ideal, and commonly somewhat short of specifications. Even the best usually turned out to lack something . The situation was far from new in history, but had been greatly aggravated in recent decades.
    Even Goodall