"Something like that," Moore said.
They sat and thought about it. The rocket was now fifteen hundred miles up, climbing swiftly.
"For one thing," Moore said, "we are lighter. What do they call it? Gravity? Gravity is less."
"I don't like it," cried Jones. "I don't like it at all!"
"What?" Moore looked at him.
Jones stared back, frightened. "It's nothing like I thought it would be. Maybe we'll get so light there won't be anything left! Where is everything? It's so empty it don't make sense. Something's wrong, Bob. Let's try to turn back before we die like the others! I don't want to die! I want—"
Moore reached over and slapped the other's face, hard. Jones focused glassy, unsteady eyes, surprised and hurt. "Why did you do that?"
"You called me yellow a while ago," Moore said, disgusted. "Now it's you who are acting like a woman or a child. You would really kill us, trying to turn back at this velocity."
"I'm still afraid," Jones said, but not wildly. "I don't know what's happening to me. I can remember things that happened years ago; things I hardly noticed. I'm starting to understand things I never understood before, and some of the things are hard to take."