They were three days on their way when McCauley said patiently:
"I've told you. You can use the communicator back to Earth and protest that you were kidnaped. You can arrange for us to be arrested when we return. But we can't turn back. It isn't possible. I wouldn't if I could. Anyhow you're not nearly as scared as you were. You can think straight, now, certainly! And you can see how ridiculous you'll look if you become known as the man who had to be shanghaied for a space trip because he'd neither the nerve to go nor the intestinal fortitude to admit the fact and let another man try to do his work. If you want to be known as a complete ass, you can. But do you?—Do you want to be known as an utter ass?"
Bramwell glared at him. Nobody can stay panicked for days on end. If a man had had a Damoclean sword hanging over his head for days, he'd wind up accustomed to it. He wouldn't like it, but he couldn't stay scared. Fear is an emergency mechanism to increase the pulse rate and release adrenalin and tone the muscles for combat or flight. It is inherently a limited response. It has a maximum duration.
And Bramwell was now past the limit of the time a man can stay hysterically terrified. He didn't like space. He didn't like no-weight. But most devastatingly and bitterly—now that he was no longer terrified—he was ashamed. McCauley and Randy had seen him in babbling, incoherent frenzy. His dignity was utterly gone. And he hated Randy and McCauley poisonously because they'd seen what he would not admit to himself—that he was afraid. It was humiliation to face them. It was an intolerable rasping-raw of his vanity to be in their presence. They knew he'd been afraid and that he'd bluffed to hide it. They'd seen him crack up when he found himself in space. He was shamed beyond endurance. Therefore he raged, and therefore he hated them irreconcilably.
McCauley went on as patiently as before:
"You can do your work now, and it will never be known that you had to be forced to it like a scared little boy. Or you can not do it, and it won't get done, and the history books will say that men once started for the stars but had to come home because Doctor Bramwell's pride prevented him from working on the problem he was the only man who could solve."
Randy, watching, nodded to himself. McCauley was doing a good job of argument. That last "only man who could" was flattery, and Bramwell ought to respond to it.
"I shall charge," said Bramwell spitefully, "that you two prevented me from doing my work by imposing impossible working conditions on me!"
"Name possible ones," said McCauley patiently, "and you'll get them if they're available."
The canary, Mr. Perkins, chirped from its cage. The bird was upside down in relation to Bramwell, but it seemed to have adjusted admirably to the conditions of space travel.