The almost-anger faded into an almost-depression. "No," Raimey said. "Nothing's irreversible.

Except my accident."

"Matthew—"

"Oh, shut up," Raimey cut him off. "Let's get on with it."

"It's going to be all right, Matthew," Faraday said. "Everything's going to work out just fine." If he was offended by Raimey's tone, it didn't show in his voice.

Too bad. It would have been nice to offend the man, at least a little. Being able to offend people was another part of being human.

The rolling cart carrying the probe continued down the corridor. It hadn't, Raimey noted cynically, even slowed down during the conversation. So much for him having the final say on what happened with his life.

But then, what life?

The probe rolled to a stop. There was a moment of tense anticipation; and then, suddenly, there was the stomach-wrenching return to free fall as it was drop-launched from the station. A moment later came the vibrating roar of the drive and pressure against his feet. After that came silence, punctuated every few minutes by the quieter hissing of the maneuvering jets. Faraday had left the various microphones open in the Contact Room, and in the silence he was able to hear snatches of low conversation from the techs controlling his flight.

It was actually rather peaceful out here, he decided. Rather like how he'd always expected death to be. Idly, he wondered what Faraday would say if he told them to call off the project and just let him drift along this way.

But the peaceful drifting didn't last very long. All too soon, he began to feel the faint vibration as his capsule started to skim into the Jovian atmosphere. The vibration became a gentle shaking, then a rougher shaking, and finally a very serious buffeting. "Faraday!" he shouted over the screeching of the wind around the plastic walls of his flying coffin. "You guys asleep up there?"