"I think I'll drop my gun," Nils said. "It doesn't weigh very much, but it may make a difference."
"And lose the company five hundred smackers?" Petrone asked. "Okay it's your salary they'll dock. I'd rather let the air lions get me."
Nils chuckled. He worked the gun loose from his gauntleted hand—rather an awkward process, for the guns were designed to be held securely by heavy gloves. Then he released it and watched it plunge down.
Down.
Would he be following it? Would his last plunge end that way?
For the first time he began to feel a twinge of fear. The sweat started out on his forehead, and he could feel it under his arms.
He loved his wife and every one of those seven kids. He wished he could see just one of those kids again. Especially Eric. His memory showed him Eric's grinning face, and he bit back a sob.
But to die out here, millions of miles—hundreds of millions of miles!—away from them, so that they wouldn't even know it for months: that was too much.
"We're ready to start," Petrone said. "I'm coming down myself to get you."
Nils didn't answer. He was thinking. How long have I been here already? How much longer can I hold out?