"All right," he said at last. "All right. Lundgard must be through. I'd better get started."
"Leave him!" she blazed. "His air won't last many hours. We can wait."
"And when he sees he's been tricked, you think he won't wreck those links? No. There's no way out."
It was as if all his life he had walked on a road which had no turnings, which led inevitably to this moment.
He made some careful calculations from the instrument readings, physical constants of the asteroid, and used another minute's maneuvering to assume orbital velocity. Alarm lights blinked angry eyes at him, the converter was heating up. No more traveling till the links were restored.
Bo floated from his chair toward the lock. "Good-bye, Valeria," he said, feeling the bloodless weakness of words. "I hope it won't be for long."
She threw her arms about him and kissed him. The taste of tears was still on his lips when he had dogged down his helmet.
Opening the outer valve he moved forth, magnetic boots clamping to the hull. A gulf of stars yawned around him, a cloudy halo about his head. The stillness was smothering.
When he was "over" the asteroid he gauged his position with a practiced eye and jumped free. Falling, he thought mostly of Valeria.
As he landed he looked around. No sign of Lundgard. The man could be anywhere in these square miles of cosmic wreckage. He spoke tentatively into his radio, in case Lundgard should be within the horizon: "Hello, are you there?"