For a moment Hartley looked irritated, then his blue eyes twinkled with laughter. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't."
"I've never been on an asteroid and I've been a little nervous about it. I don't want to keep barrelling around space with that kind of a faze-factor bugging the back of my mind."
The great flat side had just turned into shadow and Hartley started to ease the ship down. He said, suddenly bitter, "With all my experience the only thing the political brass lets me captain is a two-man scouter. Consider my rank unpulled—it's all yours Will."
Cramer gave him an appreciative glance and put on his outside gear.
"Let the Boy Scout have the dirty jobs," Hartley muttered, a nervous sneer twisting one side of his mouth. He idly adjusted for the descent onto the sheared stone face and, once Cramer was in the exit chamber, exchanged a parting wave with him through the quartz window.
Queer duck, saying a thing like that, Cramer thought as he opened the outer hatch. A little too bitter about things for his own good sometimes.
But then his foot touched solid rock and he was too busy chipping specimens to worry about poor Nick. After each tiny chisel stroke his body bounced slightly away and, gripping the lead rope, he had to retrojet himself back into the circular light patch thrown by Scout III. The stuff was hard composition but, fortunately, with many straight stress lines so pieces slowly did come loose. One carefully placed blow, then a whirl of stars streaming across jet blackness, then a swing back into the light and another blow and another outward swing.
Suddenly a voice crackled in his ear. "You've been out fifty minutes, Will."
"It can't be!"
"Asteroid time's tricky when you're busy. How many chips you have?"