Socrates called "Wait" into his radio at least a dozen times, but there was no answer.
Mrs. Entwhistle said, "Why is that crazy woman going into the crepe ring?"
Socrates sighed. If Norma got hurt now, his entire venture out here would be ruined. Farquhart would see to that. Besides, quite suddenly, he did not want Norma to get hurt. Not at all. Not ever. Maybe he was crazy—but he liked the girl.
"What," he demanded of Mrs. Entwhistle, "is wrong with the crepe ring?"
"Now, that's a silly question. You told me yourself it was dangerous. No one can see anything or some such thing—"
"Ha, ha, ha. I was joking. Good joke—but it's the best part of the trip. In fact, the trip is incomplete without it. I've saved it for last."
"So why are you trembling, Mr. Smith?"
"Nothing. It's nothing at all. Just get back into your helmet and I'll show you what the inside of the crepe ring is like. Go ahead, Mrs. Entwhistle. It isn't everyone who gets a chance to see the inside of the crepe ring...."
The darkness of space was pleasant by comparison. Here there were vague flitting shadows, the half-seen images of huge masses of rock and metal hurtling through space in their eternal revolution around Saturn. One would be more than enough to crush their little ship—and Norma's....