“We’ve got to find a place to strap down, or every bone in our bodies will be broken on the blast-off!” Garry said.
A speaker along the corridor next gave out with the dread words: “Blast-off in ninety seconds, ladies and gentlemen. Secure your seat harness and listen to the instructions of the stewards. Failure to obey directions could cost you your lives. In the first few moments of acceleration in a rocket ship, there is a crushing blow to the human body. This jolt will occur twice more as the second and third stages blast off. For that reason, it is absolutely necessary that everyone be strapped down securely to his G-couch.”
Patch grabbed his friends arm in a fierce grip. “Garry, we’re going to die! We’re going to die!” he cried.
Garry shook off Patch and desperately began throwing open doors along the corridor, looking into one room after another. “There must be some G-couches along here,” he said. “I read somewhere that space law says there must be emergency couches on all decks of a rocket ship.”
Patch tagged along after Garry, complaining. Garry could not afford to be sympathetic now. Both their lives depended on what he did within the next minute.
Then Garry found it. Printed on the door was the heartening word: “G-COUCHES.”
He flung open the door and saw a row of six S-shaped reclining seats.
Garry grabbed the arm of his quaking friend in a tight grip and told him, “Listen to me, Patch, and do what I tell you. Jump on a couch just as fast as you can and don’t waste a second getting those buckles fastened across your chest, body, and legs. Now get going!”
Garry helped him along with a shove, then dove for one of the couches close by.
As he hastily fastened his own straps in place, Garry cast worried glances at his friend, who was fumbling as best he could in his nervous state.