Randall Garrett

Summary

Randall Garrett Spatial Delivery

Once every two hours, the artificial satellite looped completely around the planet, watching what went on below. Outside its bright steel hull was the silence of the interplanetary vacuum; inside, in the hospital ward, Lieutenant Alice Britton clutched at the sheets of her bed in pain, then relaxed as it faded away.
Major Banes looked at her and smiled a little. "How do you feel, Lieutenant?"
She smiled back; she knew the pain wouldn't return for a few minutes yet. "Fine, doctor. It's no worse than I was expecting. How long will it before we can contact White Sands?"
Source: Gutenberg

Randall Garrett Spatial Delivery

Your son, James Edward Britton II, is doing fine, thank you."
"You mean—already?"
The colonel said nothing, but he raised an eyebrow.
"Over an hour ago," said Banes.
"But—but—the incubator—"
Banes' grin widened. "We'll put the baby in it, now that we've got it, but it really isn't necessary. Your wife figured that one out. A space station is a kind of incubator itself, you see. It protects us poor, weak humans from the terrible conditions of space. So all we had to do was close up one of the airtight rooms, sterilize it, warm it up, and put in extra oxygen from the emergency tanks.
Source: Gutenberg

Randall Garrett Spatial Delivery

I can't beam a radio message through to the Earth. But as soon as we get within radio range of White Sands, I'll ask them to send up an emergency rocket with an incubator. But—"
"But what?"
"Will we have time? The pains are coming pretty fast now. It will be at least three hours before they can get a ship up here. If they miss us on the next time around, it'll be five hours. She can't hold out that long."
Source: Gutenberg

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