After what seems forever, the intercom crackles on and it is Monica, again, "Scurry, you can dig your dingers back into the armrest now, we are preparing to land."

For sometime, I try to tangle myself up better in the jump-couch. I also think about how comforting my boring job back home sounds just now.

Some of the radio-chatter filters in over the intercom. The only part that I hear clearly is the part where the fighter-escort breaks in to tell Greenbeam that this is as far as they go, and that they'll be waiting for him if he comes back. some Reassurance.

there's not much else to do other than drum my fingers on the metal-desktop and keep my legs wrapped around the couch-supports. Not that it would help a whole lot if anything really did go wrong. But it is the thought that counts.

The Shuttle lurches off and I fall back inon my G-couch.

And there is a fairly potent computer set up on the gray-steel desktop. Things are continuing to go in their unexpected way.

I lay out my satchel and examine my surroundings. The cubicle is laid out better than I had thought. I do notice that there are several cabinents with wires and refrigerant lines. They are filled with water-paks, food paks, and med-aid paks.

She shuts the door, and latches it.

"We'll let you know," Monica practically pushes me into the cubicle, "Don't burn yourself on the laser-welds."

"How will I know when I am needed?" I ask.