Blackout came very soon.
He awoke in free fall. He was orbiting aimlessly about the cubicle.
Haarland was strapped to the cot, absorbed in manipulating the portable projector, trying to thread a free-floating film. Ross bumped against the old man; Haarland abstractedly shoved him off.
He careened from a bulkhead and flailed for a grip.
“Oh,” said Haarland, looking up. “Awake?”
“Yes, awake!” Ross said bitterly. “What is all this? Where are we?”
The old man said formally, “Please forgive my cavalier treatment of you. You must not blame your friend Marconi; he had no idea that I was planning an immediate blastoff with you. I had an assignment for him which he—he preferred not to accept. Not to mince words, Ross, he quit.”
“Quit his job?”
The old man shook his head. “No, Ross. Quit muc
