Roger Stone was saying anxiously, ‘Now see here, the minute you have this under control, back you come — you hear?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll see you on Mars, dearest.’
‘No indeed! You —’
‘No, Roger. I might act as a carrier. We can’t risk it.’
‘You might act as a carrier corning back to us on Mars, too. Don’t you ever expect to come back?’
She ignored the rhetorical question. ‘On Mars there will be hospitals. But I can’t risk a family epidemic in space.’
‘Edith, I’ve a good mind to refuse to—’
‘They’re ready for me, dear. See?’
Over their heads, two hundred yards away, a passenger lock on the rotation axis of the mighty ship had opened; two small figures spilled silently out, flipped neatly to boot contact, stood on the ship’s side, their heads pointing ‘down’ at Mr and Mrs Stone. Roger Stone called into his microphone, ‘War God!’
‘War God aye aye!’
‘Are you ready?’
‘Whenever you are.’
‘Stand by for transfer.’
Acting Captain Rowley had proposed sending a man over to conduct Dr Stone across the gap. She had refused, not wishing to have anyone from the infected ship in contact with the Rolling Stone. Now she said, ‘Are my lines free for running, Roger?’
‘Yes, dearest.’ He had bent several lines together, one end to her waist, the other to a padeye.
‘Will you do my boots, dear?’
He kneeled and unzipped her magnetic boots without speaking, his voice having become uncertain. He straightened and she put her arms around him. They embraced awkwardly, hampered by the suits, hampered by the extra back pack she carried. ‘Adios, my darling,’ she said softly. ‘Take care of the children.’
‘Edith! Take care of yourself!’
‘Yes, dear. Steady me now.’
He slipped his hands to her hips; she stepped out of the boots, was now held against the ship only by his hands.
‘Ready! One! Two!’ They crouched down together. ‘Three!’ She jumped straight away from the ship, her lines snaking after her. For long, long seconds she sailed straight out over his head, closing the gap between her and the liner. Presently it became evident that she had not leapt quite straight; her husband got ready to haul her back in.
But the reception committee was ready for the exigency. One of them was swinging a weighted line around his head; he let the end of it swing farther and farther out. As she started to move past the side of the War God he swung it against her safety line; the weighted end wrapped itself around her line. Back at the Rolling Stone Roger Stone snubbed her line and stopped her; the man on the liner gently pulled her in.
The second man caught her and snapped a hook to her belt, then unfastened the long line from the Stone. Before she entered the lock she waved, and the door closed.
Roger Stone looked at the closed door for a moment, then pulled in the line. He let his eyes drop to the pair of little boots left standing empty beside him. He pulled them loose, held them to him, and plodded back to his own airlock.
IX — ASSETS RECOVERABLE
The twins kept out of their father’s way for the next several days. He was unusually tender and affectionate with all of them but he never smiled and his mood was likely to flare suddenly and unexpectedly into anger. They stayed in their bunkroom and pretended to study — they actually did study some of the time. Meade and Hazel split the care of Lowell between them; the child’s feeling of security was damaged by the absence of his mother. He expressed it by temper tantrums and demands for attention.
Hazel took over the cooking of lunch and dinner; she was no better at it than Meade. She could be heard twice a day, burning herself and swearing and complaining that she was not the domestic type and never had had any ambitions that way. Never!
Dr Stone phoned once a day, spoke briefly with her husband, and begged off from speaking to anyone else for the reason that she was much too busy. Roger Stone’s explosions of temper were most likely to occur shortly after these daily calls.