"Okay," he said, "test me. Give me some digits to multiply while you punch them on the computer."
"All right," Hartley muttered impatiently. "38,373 times 14,621 times 322. Satisfied?"
After a few seconds, "1-8-0-6-5-8-6-2-5-8-2-6."
Hartley pulled a strand of tape from the computer. "Repeat it slowly." Eyes widening, he followed the response on the tape. "You've got it right!"
"Satisfied? Seriously, though, it's nothing when you know the tricks. Old-time non-machine calculating was one of my hobbies when I was a kid."
"It isn't 'nothing.' Space ecstasy ruins a man's ability to think straight for hours. Plenty of bodies are still drifting around space because in the early days they neglected the proper safety checks." He stared through the magnifier at the asteroid, its flat face now glittering in sunlight. "Starting to feel the hangover headache?"
"No, just fine. Nick, I've never felt this good in my life!"
"We'll wait here an hour."
But after the hour was up Cramer was still grinning. "I'm ready to go out again," he said.