"Perfectly," I said.
"It's tricky out in space, you know. No hard feelings, but the fraction of a micro-error and poof! You see what I mean. I must get a sound sleep at stand-down."
"Don't forget what I said about Kate," Dr. Harold K. Jones remembered to warn me. "I know how to do it, too. And you can have an accident with my instruments—easily."
He disappeared. I watched as the others woke up and went, one by one, even the felon from Arcetus, until they were all gone and I was alone with dark thoughts on heavy elements. It was so improbable that I was the only me who had worked on these lines, and very probable that if two of us with similar minds did work on the same problem, we could between us find the answer. Look at Dr. Jones and his hyperspace relapse.
Thinking of Dr. Jones made me think of Kate, and I fell asleep again with the memory of her scent in my head, as if I were really smelling it. When I woke up again, halfway through the morning, there she was in my room. She was at least dressed this time, but she smiled familiarly at me.
"For God's sake, Kate," I said, "go back to your husband!"
She began to cry. "Oh, Haroldkin," she said. "I'm so glad to see you. I must be dreaming, because I know you're dead, but I've kept everything just the way it was. Look—I haven't even touched your messy desk."
"Are you sitting in a room?" I asked.
"I'm in your study, Haroldkin," she said, surprised. "Can't you see?"