"Sure—you're one of us now. I knew you would be. Well, let's go places and do things! You'd better put on a suit, too, so you can stand in the air-lock and handle the line."
They donned the heavily insulated, heated suits, and Stevens snapped the locking plugs of the drag line into their sockets upon the helmets.
"Hear me?" he asked. "Sound-disks all x?"
"All x."
"On the radio—all x?"
"All x."
"I tested your tanks and heaters—they're all x. But you'll have to test...."
"I know the ritual by heart, Steve. It's been in every show in the country for the last year, but I didn't know you had to go through it every time you went out-of-doors! Halves, number one all x, two all x, three all x...."
"Quit it!" he snapped. "You aren't testing those valves! That check-up is no joke, guy. These suits are complicated affairs, and some parts are apt to get out of order. You see, a thing to give you fresh air at normal pressure and to keep you warm in absolute space can't be either simple or fool-proof. They've worked on them for years, but they're pretty crude yet. They're tricky, and if one goes sour on you, out in space, it's just too bad—you're lucky to get back alive. A lot of men are still out there somewhere because of the sloppy check-ups."
"'Scuse it, please—I'll be good," and the careful checking and testing of every vital part of the space-suits went on.