Cooper, grinning unconsciously as he scanned with the telescope, did not notice Wyatt's sudden freeze.
It was over all at once. Wyatt's knuckles had gradually whitened as he gripped the panel. Sweat had formed on his face and run down into his eyes, and he blinked, and realized with a strange numbness that he was soaking wet all over. In that moment, his hands froze and gripped the panel, and he could not move them.
It was a hell of a thing to happen on a man's last trip, he thought. He would like to have taken her down just this once. He sat looking at his hands. Gradually, calmly, carefully, with a cold will and a welling sadness, he broke his hands away from the panel.
"Coop," he said, "take over."
Coop glanced over and saw. Wyatt's face was white and glistening; his hands in front of him were wooden and strange.
"Sure," Coop said, after a very long moment. "Sure."
Wyatt backed off, and Coop slid into the seat.
"They got me just in time," Wyatt said, looking at his stiff, still fingers. He looked up and ran into Beauclaire's wide eyes, and turned away from the open pity. Coop was bending over the panel, swallowing heavily.
"Well," Wyatt said. He was beginning to cry. He walked slowly from the room, his hands held before him like old gray things that had died.