The ship settled slowly. The floor rose up with majestic deliberation—then paused again.
"How high are we?" Morrow asked.
"A little over four feet on the altimeter," Smitty replied. "Want to hold her here a while?"
"I want you to climb out and see how much it alters her lift," Morrow explained. "One less passenger shouldn't affect it at all, but let's make sure."
"Wilco." Smitty rose from his seat and came back toward the steps.
"Jump around a little," Morrow said. "See if it rocks her any."
Grinning, Smitty banged noisily down the steps and clattered back through the ship. She rode perfectly still, unmoving. Smiling his satisfaction, Morrow waited.
Then Smitty walked around the bulge of the nose, on the floor below, and waved to him. Morrow waved back and, rising, moved up to the front seat. The altimeter still registered slightly over four feet. He returned to the console, sat down—and snapped off the lift knob.
The ship settled immediately to the floor, struck lightly, and rocked to a standstill. Morrow clambored down the steps and felt his way back through the dark interior to the air-lock.
Smitty was waiting for him as he dropped to the floor. "She checks, doesn't she?"