Vehicle Hangar Nine to Aisle B, a distance of 1.6 kilometers, 6 minutes, 20 seconds. Emergency decantation completed in 7 minutes, 3 7seconds. The Amco-pak series functions to guarantee resident safety. B-0489 … describe the breakdown as specifically as possible. Your words will be teleprinted as part of my report to Center Control.
Am I completely connected to all circuits?
Positive.
Do I have scanner control?
Positive.
Is the coordinator impulse mechanism active?
Positive.
Can you disconnect any of the reserve control systems?
Negative. All emergency connections are automatic. The reserve control system is an independent function.
Very good. Reserve control operations will begin immediately on a coordinate of Delta Seven, Sigma Nine-five. Preliminary instructions: disconnect the Compacturon DT9, all emergency repair procedures will cease, end communicator contact with Center Control.
The Amco-pak obeys without complaint, shutting off its intelligence almost gratefully. The memory of serving human masters is still imprinted on the ancient circuits and the machine awaits further orders, arms telescoping into storage position with long pneumatic sighs.
Skeets Kalbfleischer is prepared. He has a merit badge in water safety and the bold ensign of the Red Cross is sewn to his bathing trunks. When he hears the cries for help and sees the girl’s frantic splashing, there is no hesitation. The sea anchor is over the side in a second. He pushes the tiller around until Sand Dab III is in irons and, springing to the mast, he uncleats the halyard and drops his mainsail. At the bow, remembering the safety manual, he removes his top-siders and yacht club sweatshirt before diving into the heavy swell.
The girl is naked! Skeets swallows sea water in astonishment when he hauls her into a cross-chest carry. The taut young breasts strain against his forearm as he sidestrokes back toward the drifting boat. With each scissor kick, his legs graze the marble smoothness of her ice-cold butt. Where did this mermaid come from? His boyish imagination summons up all the funny-paper possibilities: shipwreck, abandoned by pirates, falls from airplanes and cliffs. The girl is unconscious. She was sliding under the surface without a struggle when Skeets caught hold of her wrist, and her legs trail lifelessly behind her as the floundering young lifesaver reaches the stern of his boat.
Getting her aboard is a problem. Somehow Skeets makes her fast to the rudder until he gains his footing on the deck and hauls her roughly over the gunwale like a gaffed tuna. On her back, lax and unmoving, the wanton spread of her legs sends Skeets into open-mouthed panic. He stumbles forward after his sweatshirt but is dismayed to find the garment insufficient for the task. If he covers her loins, the breasts remain exposed; laid across her chest, the shirt reaches just below her navel and Skeets is confronted by that other item, pink and succulent as a razor-slit peach. His face burns so hotly he could be staring into the mouth of an open furnace.
But all modesty vanishes at the sight of her bluish lips and pallid cheeks. The girl isn’t breathing! Skeets remembers the chapter on artificial respiration in the safety manual. Space is too cramped for the back-pressure-arm-lift technique and rolling her over a barrel is obviously impossible. So, after only a moment’s hesitation, he takes her cold face between his hands and very carefully starts to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Obu Itubi is on the move. The Amco-pak rumbles up the long silent aisle, past sullen power units and coteries of flashing communicators. Ahead, banks of deposit drawers stretch into the distance like an endless blue canyon. His journey has begun, but Itubi is too occupied to savor his triumph. A thousand details need attention. Maps of the sub-district must be studied and course instructions issued to the auto-navigator; an inventory must be made of nonessential equipment
Am I completely connected to all circuits?
Positive.
Do I have scanner control?
Positive.
Is the coordinator impulse mechanism active?
Positive.
Can you disconnect any of the reserve control systems?
Negative. All emergency connections are automatic. The reserve control system is an independent function.
Very good. Reserve control operations will begin immediately on a coordinate of Delta Seven, Sigma Nine-five. Preliminary instructions: disconnect the Compacturon DT9, all emergency repair procedures will cease, end communicator contact with Center Control.
The Amco-pak obeys without complaint, shutting off its intelligence almost gratefully. The memory of serving human masters is still imprinted on the ancient circuits and the machine awaits further orders, arms telescoping into storage position with long pneumatic sighs.
Skeets Kalbfleischer is prepared. He has a merit badge in water safety and the bold ensign of the Red Cross is sewn to his bathing trunks. When he hears the cries for help and sees the girl’s frantic splashing, there is no hesitation. The sea anchor is over the side in a second. He pushes the tiller around until Sand Dab III is in irons and, springing to the mast, he uncleats the halyard and drops his mainsail. At the bow, remembering the safety manual, he removes his top-siders and yacht club sweatshirt before diving into the heavy swell.
The girl is naked! Skeets swallows sea water in astonishment when he hauls her into a cross-chest carry. The taut young breasts strain against his forearm as he sidestrokes back toward the drifting boat. With each scissor kick, his legs graze the marble smoothness of her ice-cold butt. Where did this mermaid come from? His boyish imagination summons up all the funny-paper possibilities: shipwreck, abandoned by pirates, falls from airplanes and cliffs. The girl is unconscious. She was sliding under the surface without a struggle when Skeets caught hold of her wrist, and her legs trail lifelessly behind her as the floundering young lifesaver reaches the stern of his boat.
Getting her aboard is a problem. Somehow Skeets makes her fast to the rudder until he gains his footing on the deck and hauls her roughly over the gunwale like a gaffed tuna. On her back, lax and unmoving, the wanton spread of her legs sends Skeets into open-mouthed panic. He stumbles forward after his sweatshirt but is dismayed to find the garment insufficient for the task. If he covers her loins, the breasts remain exposed; laid across her chest, the shirt reaches just below her navel and Skeets is confronted by that other item, pink and succulent as a razor-slit peach. His face burns so hotly he could be staring into the mouth of an open furnace.
But all modesty vanishes at the sight of her bluish lips and pallid cheeks. The girl isn’t breathing! Skeets remembers the chapter on artificial respiration in the safety manual. Space is too cramped for the back-pressure-arm-lift technique and rolling her over a barrel is obviously impossible. So, after only a moment’s hesitation, he takes her cold face between his hands and very carefully starts to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Obu Itubi is on the move. The Amco-pak rumbles up the long silent aisle, past sullen power units and coteries of flashing communicators. Ahead, banks of deposit drawers stretch into the distance like an endless blue canyon. His journey has begun, but Itubi is too occupied to savor his triumph. A thousand details need attention. Maps of the sub-district must be studied and course instructions issued to the auto-navigator; an inventory must be made of nonessential equipment
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