The Madcap Metalloids

Plucked from the space-lanes by its ravening magnetism, the two intrepid Terrans defied the death of this deadly radio-active worldlet by playing games with the roly-poly natives!
Jonathan Drake swam back to consciousness as a bubble rises through molasses—slowly, and with great effort. His arms lay heavily on the padded rests of the shock-chair, and his lids drooped persistently despite the shouted commands of his brain. A bubble of air rose reluctantly up his throat to operate his paralyzed vocal cords.
Doc, he croaked. Doc? The words bounced off the polished metal walls of the room. There was no sound after that but the soft purr of the control board.
Jonathan walked his hand along the arm rest like a spider, each finger a leg drawing the weighted hand a step further like a tremendous body. Finally a finger found the cup of the release button, and the pneumatic pads fell free of thigh, belly and chest. He slid the button forward and the shock-seat tilted him forward and decanted him gently onto the floor.
He could hear Doc breathing now, the sound of it harsh above the quiet humming of the dynamics, and he rolled on over and heaved his body off the floor with both arms.
Puny, he muttered to himself. Weak as a baby. Must have been a rough landing.
He fought his way to his hands and knees, but his body rebelled at the task of rising to his feet.
This is getting to where it ain't funny , he thought, and scrambled with great effort to the control board.
He had a look at the G-gauge and whistled softly. 3.4! Leaping Luna, no wonder! He forced his hand to the knurled knob of the control lever and clicked it down four notches. He held it there a moment, then eased it back a fraction by twisting the knob. The dynamics' hum rose a note and the weight began to fall from him.
He stepped swiftly to the other shock-chair and released the restrainers with one impatient stabbing finger. Doc had a bluish tinge about his mouth and his breathing was a bit ragged.