Marcia smiled wanly. "That I'd like. And Burt?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"Be careful...."
Burt felt like a kangaroo. Only no earthly kangaroo had ever taken leaps like this. He had flicked the switch of the gravity equalizer over to the right, shutting off the power. Then he had taken off in great leaps, looking for Johnny. His jumps carried him forty or fifty feet in the air, and then he floated down, almost weightless.
With concentration, he could have avoided those high leaps. He could have propelled himself forward, fifty and sixty feet at a jump, but he did not want to. The horizon was too close, and the only way he could find Johnny was like this. As he reached the apex of each leap, he could see much further than he could on the ground, and he was looking for the boy.
Once he thought he saw Johnny, a tiny blob way off in the distance, but he came down from his jump too soon, and he could not be sure. He called loudly, and everything else was quiet, and his voice was almost frightening. Soon the ground felt spongy to him, but he shrugged it off. As soon as he landed, he was off again, and it probably was his imagination. Hard rock did not become spongy like this, not suddenly, without warning, with no possible explanation.
But once he landed hard, and he rested a moment, panting. He moved his feet and they slopped about, like on a muddy field. He reached down carefully. One wrong move would upset his equilibrium and he'd go shooting off into the air. He touched the ground, and it was wet. He pushed, and he felt his hand sinking in, slowly. Fascinated, he pushed again. His hand disappeared to the wrist.
Something was trying to suck him down further, and he tugged. He pulled his hand out with a loud slopping sound, and instinctively he jumped away. He soared into the air again, and when he came down, it was only for a moment—just long enough to leap.
The ground was spongy. And when he was standing there, with his hand immersed to the wrist, the soft spongy stuff had been pulsing, throbbing.