What's that? Loving?
A wife is a Martha, he thought. A Martha is a wife.
It seemed to mean something, but he didn't have time to decipher it before he passed out.
When he came to he immediately switched off the chemical drive. It had given him a good shove in the right direction, and that was all that was necessary. He would coast in now, and he had to save his fuel for maneuvering in atmosphere.
After that, he rested, trying to accustom himself to the harshness of things in mass-space.
His time-to-destination indicator gave him ten hours, when he began to feel uneasy. He couldn't pin-point the source of unease at first. He was fidgety, impatient. Or something that resembled those feelings. It was like when he couldn't remember why he wasn't supposed to turn the Skipdrive back on. It occurred to him that he wasn't thinking clearly, somehow.
He noticed to his surprise he had switched on his transmitter. Probably while he was drumming his fingers or something. He switched it off.
Thirty minutes later he found himself toying with the same switch. He had turned it on again. This was getting ridiculous. He shouldn't be so nervous.
He grinned wryly to himself. The transmitter switch, indeed. If ever a useless piece of junk had been put in Phoenix I, that was it. Transmitter switch!