Madison got a bottle and he and I got sloppily drunk, leaning on each other, singing innocently obscene songs of our youth. The technicians, good government men, were openly disgusted with us.
Two hours after we had contacted Meyverik, I left Madison snoring on the desk and lurched to the control board, bunching my soiled shirt at the throat with my hand.
I called Johnson.
"Going to die, Johnson. Tricked you. Can't get back, Johnson. Not ever. No fuel. Ha, you can't ever go home again, Johnson. Like that, you damned runny-nosed little poet?"
His dark face worked weakly.
Ha, he sure as thunderation didn't like it.
He asked for the bloody details and I fed them to him.
"Turning back, aren't you?" I jeered.
"I just wanted a place and a time for thinking," he said across the Solar System. "But I'll die and I don't know if you can dream in death."