He should have kept it and demonstrated. That would have convinced her. He would never forget the first time he had worn it—and nearly frightened himself off the ceiling. He cast about for other ways but nothing else was necessary. Anti was thinking of what she'd forbidden herself to contemplate.
"There," said Jordan, his voice rough with pride. "I knew you'd get the hang of it."
"Why didn't you say so?" said Anti. "The gravity computer. My mind and that mind."
For a prescientific person she'd grasped the essentials quickly. "Jordan, maybe you should keep it," she called. "You can use it as well as I can."
"I don't need it," he said. "Nobody's heard me complaining. And you can't, or couldn't move." He gazed at her in alarm. "Come on down," he shouted. "You can't catch the stars by yourself."
"You think I can't?" said Anti. "I'll come closer to it than anyone who ever lived."
Nevertheless she obeyed his instructions, sinking slowly until her feet touched the ground. The grass crackled and smouldered, though it was green, bursting into flame where she walked as the acid dripped down. And it was walking, though her legs carried only a fraction of her real weight. The rest of the weight was destroyed for her convenience by the gravity computer as it responded continually and repeatedly to her unspoken commands.
"The doctor will be surprised," muttered Jordan.
"Not as much as I am," said Anti. "I can fly if I want, but do you know, I'd rather walk."