But I could use the friction of the grainy organiform. And maybe grab a handhold. Maybe—
My adhesive patch. It would help hold me to the rough surface. I reached up toward my neck and yanked down. Then I slapped my knee with the tab and—
We hit.
The forward strut caught the pancake skin. It dug in.
I ducked my head and wrapped my arms over my neck. Standard position. A shock ran through Roadhog. I felt a grinding tremor—
A pipe smacked me in the ribs. I slammed into something that gave slightly. All around me bright, glittering debris was tumbling, like a luminous shower. Sparkling bits of Roadhog plunged by me. Soundless. Soundless, and tumbling.
I rolled over and over, along the face of the pancake. My adhesive patch caught, gave way, caught, gave way, making a small ripping sound inside my suit. It kept me on the pancake, reduced the recoil momentum, but it wasn’t slowing me down much.
I snatched at a handhold. Caught it. Lost the grip. The organiform is rough but flexible. I rolled, arms curled over my head, legs out straight. A waterfall of junk was tumbling with me. My right side and arm hurt, but there was no jabbing pain. Maybe the organiform had cushioned me enough; maybe nothing was broken.
The adhesive patch was snatching at the organiform, holding me to it. But I wasn’t stopping. I was rolling in a soundless shower. Outside my helmet was a blur of gray organiform, then a blur of black sweeping by, then organiform again. If it went on I would roll off the top of the pancake and out into space.
I brought my arms down, dug in with my elbows. At once I got a jarring and my arm twisted painfully. I tried again. Another wrenching jolt, a flash of pain in my shoulder.
If I wasn’t careful, I’d push too much against the pancake and knock myself off entirely, out into space. I fought against the sickening revolution and tried to scan the pancake skin ahead. I was near the edge. Friction with the pancake was trying to swing me around, give me some angular deflection. But ahead of me I could see pieces of Roadhog flying off into the blackness.
Ahead, something—A blur. No, a bump. A set of handholds in the plastiform.
It came looming up. I thrashed toward it. The white bumps shot toward me. I kicked in their direction without thinking. I began to rise off the pancake. I was rebounding off. I snatched—Missed. Another handhold came gliding by below. I windmilled my arms, bringing my head toward the pancake. I snatched downward. Grabbed it. Held on for the jolt—
When my arms felt like a bundle of knots, I knew I had it. I flailed wildly and got my other hand onto it. My arm was numb. I dumbly watched pieces of Roadhog disappear over the side, spinning away into the darkness.
“Matt! You okay?”
“I… I think so.”
“Don’t waste time! Get over to the lock!”
“Yeah…sure… Maybe the team can…”
“It’s faster if you follow the emergency line to the ten-A lock.”
“Oh…okay.”
I started hand over fist along the skin of the pancake, working my way toward the bright blue emergency line twenty meters away.
Inside Lock ten-A I sagged against the bulkhead and listened to the hiss of air flooding in around me. I looked down. My adhesive patch looked like somebody had been trying to snatch it bald. There were cuts and nicks all over my suit. I still had the goddam Faraday cup sealed in the carry-bag on my left leg. My leg ached there; it must have banged against me. But through the clear plastic the cup didn’t look damaged. I thought. Well, that’s what this was about, right? It looked like pretty small stuff.
I waited for the lock to cycle. I was wrung out, depressed. I half expected to be met by the ship’s officer who would put me in handcuffs.
But then the lock swung open. The tube outside looked like a subway car. People were jammed in. They waved and beamed as I stepped forward. I popped my helmet and a warm rush of noise poured in.
“Matt!” My mother wrapped her arms around me and cried.
Dad was there, smiling and frowning at the same time, shaking hands with me.
People were swarming around, touching me, helping me off with my suit.
Mr. Jablons appeared at my elbow, “Welcome back.” He took the Faraday cup in its wrapper. “Good luck with the boss, too.” His eyes twinkled and he gestured with his head at Commander Aarons, who was talking to an officer down the corridor.
“How do you feel, Matt?” I turned the other way and saw Jenny.
“Great.”
“I hope you—”
“Forget it. I’m immortal,” I said gruffly. I didn’t mention that for some reason my knees felt weak. And nobody commented on what a dumb fool stunt I’d pulled.
Commander Aarons scowled over at me. “No,” I heard him say. “I will talk to him later. Let the doctors have a look first.”
A hand took my elbow roughly and guided me through the crowd. I winked at Jenny, hoping I looked self-confident.
There were two medical attendants with me. They hustled me into an elevator and we zipped inward five levels. I was in a daze. A doctor in a white coat poked at me, took a blood sample, urinanalysis, skin sections—and then ordered me into a ’fresher.
I got a new set of standard ship work clothes when I came out, and a light supper. My time sense was all fouled up; it was early morning, ship’s time, but my stomach thought it was lunch. And I felt like I was a million years old.
After that they left me alone.
Finally someone stuck his head in a door and motioned me into the next room. The doctor was in there, reading a chart.
“Young man,” he said slowly, “you have given me and your parents and a lot of other people a great deal of trouble. That was an extremely foolish gesture to make. These past few days have been hard on all of us, but such heroics are not to be excused.”
He looked at me sternly. “I imagine the Commander will have more to say to you. I hope he disciplines you well. By freak chance, you seem to have avoided getting a serious dosage of radiation. Your blood count is nearly normal. I expect it will reach equilibrium again within a few hours.”
“I’m okay?”
“That is what I said. Your—”
There was a knock at the door. It opened and a bridge officer looked in. “Finished. Doctor?”
“Nearly.” He turned to me. “I want you to know that you came very close to killing yourself, young man. The background level out there is rising rapidly; it very nearly boiled you alive. Commander Aarons will make an example of you—”
“No doubt.” I got up. The Doctor pressed his lips together into a thin line, then nodded reluctantly to the officer. We left.
“What now?” I said in the tube outside. “The Commander’s office?”
“Nope. Mr. Jablons’.”
“Why?”
They don’t let me in on their secrets. The Commander is there now. He sent me for you. If it was up to me I’d have you thrashed, kid.”
I didn’t say anything more until we reached the electronics lab. There weren’t any more convenient excuses. No dodges, no explanations. I had pulled off a dumb stunt and saved my neck only by smashing up Roadhog.
I slumped as I walked beside the bridge officer, my shoulders sagging forward. My conversation with Zak drifted through my head. Self-knowledge is usually bad news. Yeah. I thought back over what had been happening to me, the way one moment I’d act reasonably mature, and then the next minute I’d come on like some twelve-year-old. I hadn’t dealt with Yuri. I hadn’t straightened out my feelings about women, I hadn’t even been able to take looking like a failure in Mr. Jablons’ eyes…