"Sorry, Mr. Willard," Harris said. "We're on a tight schedule. I need you in your quarters in twenty minutes and in your impact chairs in twenty-five."

Nods all around. Willard looked down at Robert who sat unconscious. "What about him?"

"Should we just leave him out? No reason to wake him up, just to put him back to sleep. Let him wake up at Jupiter."

Harris nodded and clapped his hands together. "Let's do it. I'll show you each to your quarters. We'll get Dr. Samuels squared away, then the rest of you can get in the chairs. Choi will do a final inspection before launch."

"What happens if we're not in the chairs by launch?"

Harris frowned. "Be in the chair by launch." With that, he walked away, towards the nearest doorway.

Willard looked at Peterson. "What happens if you're not in the chairs by launch?"

"You'll be a stain on the wall by the time we get to Europa."

"Oh," Willard said. "He could have said that." Willard shouted ahead to Harris, "You could have said that."

*   *   *   *   *

Willard had been in his quarters for five minutes. In the first forty-five seconds he took off all his clothes except for his boxers. For the remaining four minutes and fifteen seconds he had been pacing in front of his impact chair. After seeing Lucy the guinea pig eaten by the chair, Willard hadn't given it a second thought. But just minutes ago, after Robert had been stripped and hauled into his chair, he'd witnessed first hand how the chair consumed a human body. The metal oozed over Robert's flesh like it was alive, swallowing him up. Willard felt his stomach flip flop as the metal slid over Robert's nostrils and eyes and felt a slight queasiness when he saw tubes move up through the silver metal skin and into Robert's nose, mouth and arms.

He was relieved to see Robert's breathing chest rise and fall beneath the metal epidermis, but couldn't help feeling fearful of being encased in a metal tomb. When the process was complete, Robert looked like a worn statue of pharaoh.

The experience left Willard unusually nervous. His extreme attitude was taking a vacation and left him with sweaty palms and a wrinkled forehead. He looked down at his boxers, then back to the chair, imagining how it would feel when the cold liquid metal covered his nether-regions. "No way," he said.

After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Willard inched forward, reaching a hand out to the arm of the chair. "Okay…I can do this."

With a quick burst of motion, Willard put his hand on the armrest. The liquid metal began to cover his fingers. He pulled away quickly. After sliding his boxers to the floor, Willard inhaled and exhaled several times in a row.

"One…"

Willard gripped his fists into tight balls.

"Two…"

Leaning forward, his muscles tensed.

"Thr—"