"Decelerating to a velocity below light. We still have our ship's intrinsic to get rid of, you know."
"Why don't we keep on?"
"Because this is a lifeship and not a spacecraft. We have only enough space power to pull ourselves down safely, with some reserve, and then we use the reserve to emit our distress call. Cheer up. We got off safely. This will be a breeze."
"It will? And why are you so happy about it?"
Jock Norton smiled, then said the one thing that removed all and any chance of Alice Hemingway ever looking upon him as a desirable character, virile or not.
"Spaceman's insurance," he said. "For spacewreck, one thousand cold clams. For debarking with every passenger within a reasonable distance of my position at the time of distress, an award of one thousand more frogskins each. This is not so much an insurance award as it is a reward incentive for a spaceman to do the right and proper thing. Then, for every lonely hour adrift in deep space, from the time of distress until we are collected safely, one hundred fish. This should add up to a neat sum by the time we are picked up. Tommy Walton and Joe Lake drifted for eight hours and collected. Sure, we're sitting pretty and we'll be rescued in due time. So let's settle down and take it easy."
Andrews said, "I suppose you've spent half of your time a-space hoping for some disaster so you could collect a neat pile."
"Not quite that bad. This is likely to be sure rough before we're collected. But it does pay off. So let's relax, huh?"
Alice was breathing a silent prayer to Commodore Wilson that he make it a quick run. She was sick and tired of spacing already....
Admiral Stone said, "These are your orders, Wilson. You are to take your squadron out to Cube X-Z-Fifty-nineteen, District Forty-seven. You'll have to comb it inch by inch."