"Jerry. Come on, stop. How can we get any work done this way, Jerry?... Ooo, Jerry...."
A few moments later, we all donned our spacesuits.
Effortlessly, we carried great stacks of supplies across 4270's crumbled, broken surface. The light gravity seemed hardly to exist at all, and I think I could have lifted the Karden Cruiser bodily if I desired. We made exactly two trips from the ship to the dome's airlock, our grav-plates clomping up and down soundlessly under the space-boots—ordinarily it'd have taken us a whole day to unload the Karden.
The horizon was a crazy distorted thing no more than three hundred feet away, where the planetoid's surface bent away almost at right angles, and right on the crest against the blackness of the sky rested our Karden. It looked pretty good on a place which Gramps told me Clair had called ghastly when they first stepped outside to explore, but the dome looked even better.
We stood within the lock now, and with a little squeal of delight which I picked up over our suit intercoms, Clair ran for one of the dull metal structures.
"Look in here," she called back over her shoulder, and I entered through the doorway just in time to see her unscrewing her helmet.
I yelled something loud over the intercom, I don't remember what, and then I flicked off the grav-plate button in the glove of my left hand and dove at Clair.
I caught her just above the mid-section and we went down in a heap. I switched on my grav-plates again.
"Just to show me how strong you are," she pouted, "you don't have to come flying through the air and landing on my belly. Lucky you weigh less than a pound without the grav-plates. Only quit trying to be funny."