"Cut the acceleration!" Brace snarled. "Make it one and a half G's!"
The springs of his chair whispered their release as the acceleration eased. Brace unsnapped the safety belt and heaved himself out of the chair and to a hand hold. The deck was straight up and down.
"Adjust for floor gravity!" Brace ordered.
Obediently, the pilot cut the stern jets and for an instant, they were in free fall. Then the under jets cut in and Brace was pressed to the deck. Prostrate, he watched the stars wheel before the front port, slow down in their movement, and stop.
"One G.," Brace said, rising. He stood upright, straightened his cap, and walked to the port.
Brace walked slowly down the companionway, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "Chuck her out!" he muttered. "Chuck her out!" It was a clean, swift, merciful death. There was nothing clinging about it, none of the sickness that he felt when he thought of putting her into Gartland's hands.
"It isn't her," he murmured. "I just can't stomach scum like Gartland." He wished he'd killed him, taken a chance on dodging the S.P. Maybe Gartland had been bluffing. Maybe he'd been alone. Brace toyed with the idea of returning to Titan. No, that was too risky. Besides, the girl.... "Well, might as well get it over with," he muttered.
He straightened and rapped at the door. Her answering voice was tremulous. Perhaps that deep essence of woman had told her that time had run out. Maybe men knew it too. Maybe everybody knew when their time came to die.
He thrust these thoughts aside and stepped into the cabin. The girl was still on the bunk. Its free floating gimbals had swung it back.