Weakly, he leaned against the airlock, breathing with huge gulps. A plug was out in the rocket, or down at the base, or a tube was blown, and for this reason he had very nearly made a fool of himself. For all he knew they could hear him. He began to talk anyway, questioning, liking the sound of his voice in the really absolute silence.
He stepped out of the turret looking for Falk. He had had a rough day, and it was time to go home. To his great relief he saw Falk standing a few feet away on the turret's side, his magnetized soles gripping the metal and his head looking out toward the stars. He was not hanging on to anything, he seemed to be totally unconcerned, and his arms were lifted strangely.
Web whistled. Now there, he said to himself, is a man with nerve. He slipped hand over hand down the turret to get to Falk and the taxi.
Falk didn't move as he approached. Falk just kept looking at the stars.
"Come on boy, Web said aloud, let's get moving." He came up and laid his helmet against Falk's, so they could talk to each other.
But he didn't say anything.
Directly in front of his eyes was the plate of Falk's helmet, and inside the helmet was nothing.
Web withdrew. The empty suit before him swayed slightly as he brushed it.
This is ridiculous, Web said. I'm going nuts.
Around him moved the whirling stars.