Part 2

Twice he stopped for a food pellet and a little water. The rests were welcome: his arms and chest were stiff and aching. But he didn't rest long, because he was getting really scared now. He was sure he was dangerously close to his destination, and his speed hadn't been cut enough. The continents and oceans of Earth's day side were clearly visible, and grew noticeably larger as he looked at them.

He now thought of the direction he was going as _down_; he thought of himself as _falling_.

Something bothered him: America had not been in sight a while ago, but now he could see a corner of Brazil appearing at the edge of the disk of Earth. Did that mean he was passing by Earth instead of falling straight at it? No, he realized in a moment, it just meant Earth was rotating; for he could see that the sunset line, the line between night side and day side, had not changed its apparent position on the disk.

No, he was still falling. And he was _falling too fast_.

A suspicion began to form that Birkerod and Garcia _had_ anticipated this. And suddenly, terrifyingly, he thought of what Garcia's last remark might have meant!

Still, they'd said there was a way he could save himself. And the only way he could think of was to break his fall. He had a certain quantity of fuel to do it with, and he was using it. He was using it for all it was worth, no matter how much his body ached with fatigue. If those two on the _Tang_ had figured this all out ahead of time, then they must have left him enough fuel to avoid being killed. Otherwise they might as well have shot him on the _Tang_. Okay, if he had enough fuel he'd use it all.

* * * * *

One after another the fuel cartridges burned out. Pappas longed for another rest, but he didn't dare take one now. He kept firing, and still the Earth kept growing larger and brighter below him. Finally, there was no more fuel.

After a short breather, Pappas took the reaction motor, detached it from the cord which bound it to his spacesuit, and flung it downward with all his strength. Then he did the same with the mirror, the searchlight, and the reel of cable. It was all he could do.

Then there was an instant when he saw where he had gone wrong. He had not had enough fuel to do what he'd tried to do. That was clear by one look at Earth's face, which still grew alarmingly fast below him; and he could probably have figured it out before. But there had been a way which _would_ have given him some chance. He should have used his fuel, not in a hopeless attempt to decelerate, but in deflecting himself so he would miss Earth! He would have passed by Earth, relatively close. He'd have passed fast, but not too fast to signal with his mirror to Earth's several satellites, natural and artificial. The spaceports on those satellites kept twenty-four-hour watches for signals of distress; when they saw a faint blinking light they would send out a ship which would try to locate its source. They were good at it, too, and if he'd kept his mirror spinning they might have picked him up.

But he hadn't thought of it. It had never occurred to him that even when he was alone, as thoroughly alone as anyone can ever be, his life could depend on dozens of other people. He'd thought only of reaching safety by himself. And, seeing only the one possibility, he'd played it blindly.

There was that instant of sickening realization, then a little later came an instant when Earth ballooned out grotesquely below him, suddenly filling most of his field of vision, and he saw lakes, islands, deserts. He felt all over him an abrupt, final flash of heat, and _Nick Pappas became a meteor_.