
Then I got my anger under control, or maybe my fear did it for me. I suddenly realized that I was only a few dozen yards above the lights. I was not going to come down among them, but a little to the south. I couldn’t say safely to the south. I couldn’t say safely anything, because my assemblage of Pugnose-bow and safety tank was turning over slowly enough to let me predict the attitude it would have when it hit bottom, and it looked pretty certain that the open end of the hull would be underneath.
Quite aside from the fact that I wouldn’t be able to see anything from under the wreckage, there was the likelihood that I wouldn’t be able to do anything either — such as get back to the surface. This time I did reach the controls.
Since the whole idea hinged on concealment, the separators used springs rather than squibs. I waited until the spin put the hulk between me and the light and punched the button. The push was light enough to make me wonder for a few seconds whether I mightn’t be in even worse trouble than I’d supposed. Then light began to come in through ports which had been covered by the hull, and that worry ended. The springs had kicked the tank away from the lighted region, so I could see Pugnose’s bow outlined against the luminescence. The separation had slowed our fall very slightly with the wreckage now going just a trifle faster than I was. At least something was going as planned; the wreck would hit first, so there should be no chance of my getting trapped under it.
