"Don't be crazy—"
"Do not worry about us, my friend. We will find something to do. Perhaps I can interest the doctor and the captain in three-handed bridge. If not, we'll wait. We'll go soon—sssss! Like that."
Lane buried his face in his hands again.
For a few moments there was an unbroken silence. From the double-insulated hulls emanated a dry hotness that scorched the already blistered air. The hotness increased, rising to a fierce, intolerable degree. It grew, inexorably, pressing against their lungs—
Lane floundered crazily, leaped across the control room and plucked a gun from his locker. "This'll make it easier," he gasped, lifting the weapon to his head. "Somebody's got to fly that capsule—"
Lane plucked a gun from his locker. "This'll make it easier," he gasped, lifting the weapon to his head.
For ten minutes no one spoke. It was hard to speak—each breath was a torture to the lungs.