Now to get the computer off. At a guess it weighs about five hundred pounds. The beam-lever would do it but it would probably fall back.
Antigrav; the personal size is supposed to take up to three times the weight of the average man. I take mine off and buckle the straps through a convenient gap. I have my hands under the thing when M'Clare sighs again.
He is lying on his belly but his head is turned to one side, towards me. Slowly his eyelids open. He catches the sight of my hand; his head moves a little, and he says, "Lizzie. Golden Liz."
I say not to worry, we will soon be out of here.
His body jumps convulsively and he cries out. His hand reaches my sleeve and feels. He says, "Liz! Oh, God, I thought ... what—"
I say things are under control and just keep quiet a bit.
His eyes close. After a moment he whispers, "Something hit the ship."
"A homing missile, I think."
I ought not to have said that; but it seems to make no particular impression, maybe he guessed as much.