Tight Squeeze by Dean Charles Ing
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TIGHT SQUEEZE
BY DEAN C. ING
[Transcriber note: This etext was produced from Astounding ScienceFiction February 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_He knew the theory of repairing the gizmo all right. He had that nicely taped. But there was the little matter of threading a wire through a too-small hole while under zero-g, and working in a spacesuit!_
MacNamara ambled across the loading ramp, savoring the dry, dusty airthat smelled unmistakable of spaceship. He half-consciously separatedthe odors; the sweet, volatile scent of fuel, the sharp aroma oflingering exhaust gases from early morning test-firing, the delicateodor of silicon plastic which was being stowed as payload. He shieldedhis eyes against the sun, watching as men struggled with the lastplastic girders to be strapped down, high above the dazzling ground ofWhite Sands. The slender cargo doors stood open around _Valier's_ girth,awaiting his own personal O.K.
This flight would be the fourth for Major Edward MacNamara; as he nearedthe great, squatting shock absorbers he could feel the tension begin toknot his stomach. He had, of course, been overwhelmed by the opportunityto participate in Operation Doughnut. The fact that he had been one ofthe best mechanical engineers in the Air Force never occurred to him atthe time. He was a pilot, and a good one, but he had languished as C.O.of a maintenance squadron for nearly two years before he was givenanother crack at glory. Now, he wasn't at all sure he was happy with thetransition. They needed master mechanics for Operation Doughnut, but hefelt they should be left on the ground when the towering supply rocketslifted.
He stopped, leaning against scaffolding as he saw a familiar figure turntoward him. He cupped his hands before his face.
"Hey, douse that butt! Can't you ... oh, Mac!" The commanding voicetrailed off in a chuckle. Better to clown his way through theinspection, MacNamara thought, than to let Ruiz notice his nervousness.The co-pilot, Ruiz, walked toward him, still smiling. "One of thesedays, boy, you gonna go too far. Thought you were a real, eighteen caratsaboteur." He clapped MacNamara on the shoulder and gazed aloft. "Goodday for it. No weather, no hangover, no nothing."
"Yeah. You know, Johnny, I've been thinking about a modification for ourbreathing oxy." He sniffed appreciatively.
"What's that?"
"Put a little dust in it, a few smells. That stuff we breathe is justtoo sanitary!"
"I know what you mean. I sure begin to crave this filthy, germ-filledair after a few hours out there." They both smiled at the thought, thenturned to the business at hand.
"By the way, Johnny, what're you doing out so early? Didn't expect tosee you cabbies before ten."
"I donno," the bronzed Ruiz replied. "Went to bed early, woke up at sixand couldn't drop off again. And here I am. Carl ought to be alongaround nine-thirty. Thought I'd help you preflight, if you want me to."
"Sure." He wanted nothing of the sort, but had the tact not to say so.
Edward MacNamara was as familiar with the _Valier_ as he was with thetip of his nose. He had been on the scene when Dan Burke test-hopped thethird stage, had made improvements and re-routing jobs, and hadmemorized every serial number of every bearing that went into _Valier_.As Flight Engineer, he was supposed to.
With Johnny Ruiz helping a little and hindering a little, he finishedhis tour of the cargo sections and grinned his approval to a muscularloading technician. "They can button her up, sergeant. I couldn't do abetter job myself." It was a compliment of the highest order, and theyboth knew it.
Riding the tiny lift down to ground level, MacNamara stopped them everyten feet or so to circle the catwalks. He noticed Ruiz's impatienceabout halfway down. "No hurry, Johnny. I don't want another _Wyld_ onour hands." He knew he shouldn't have said it, but it slipped outanyway. Everyone tried to forget the _Wyld_ disaster, particularly theflight personnel. The _Wyld_, one of the first ships to be built, hadmade only two orbits before being destroyed. Observers stated that acargo hatch had somehow swung open when the _Wyld_ was only a thousandfeet in the air. At any rate, the pilot reported damage to onesecond-stage fin and tried to brake his way down. The _Wyld_ settledbeautifully, tilted, then fell headlong. The resultant explosion causedsuch destruction that, had there not been a number of men in orbit andwaiting for supplies, the project might have been halted, "temporarily."It was generally conceded that a more thorough preflight could haveprevented the _Wyld's_ immolation.
Ruiz was noticeably quieter during the remainder of the inspection. Theexternal check completed, MacNamara strapped a small flashlight to hiswrist and began the internal inspection, jokingly called the autopsy.
* * * * *
An hour and over a hundred and fifty feet later, MacNamara wheezed as heswung over the bulkhead at the base of _Valier's_ third and top stage.His aching limbs persuaded him to take a breather. After all, hiscomplete inspection of the day before really made a final preflightunnecessary, and passing near the frigid oxygen tanks was a day's workin itself. He listened to the innumerable noises around and below him.The clicks and hums near him meant that Ruiz, having given up followinghim, was checking out the flight controls, with power on only in the topstage. From below came a vibrational rushing noise, nearly subsonic,which told him of the fueling operation. He thought of the electricalrelays governing the fuel input and shuddered. He violently disliked theidea of having hot wires near fuel of any kind, and rocket fuel inparticular.
MacNamara swept his light over his wrist watch. Fifteen after. Loganshould be along soon, he thought, and hastened to finish checking theconduits, servos, pumps and hydraulic actuators below the cabin level.This done, he crawled up the final ladder to the cabin, or "dome."
"Well," cried a cheerful voice, "if it isn't our grimy Irishman."
MacNamara shook the sweat from his brow and muttered, "Irishman, is it?How about 'Logan'? That's a good Scandinavian name."
"How about Logan? He's great, as usual. Just look at me, Mac. What aspecimen!" Logan, the inevitable optimist, bounced out of hisacceleration couch and spread his arms wide as if to show the world whata superman he, Carl Logan, was. The gesture and its intimations madeMacNamara smile. Logan wasn't much over five feet tall, and his flightsuit made him look like a bald pussycat. His small physique covered afantastic set of reflexes, however, and Logan's sense of humor was aquality of utmost importance. He hadn't an enemy in the world. His enemywas out of this world by definition; Logan wanted to conquer space and,so far, was doing just that.
"O.K., O.K. Laugh. Just remember this, Gargantua; I may not be tall, butI sure am skinny." MacNamara smiled again, nodding agreement. "Well,don't everybody talk at once. How is she, Mac?"
"With luck," answered MacNamara, "we might get ten feet off the turf."He paused for effect. "Seriously, Carl, she never looked better. Youcould take her up right now. Say, where's Johnny? I thought you'd justbe checking in to the medics; looks like everybody's early today."
"He's probably over in some corner, making out his will. He was downbelow a while ago with a face a mile long."
_Probably_, thought Mac, _he's still thinking about the_ Wyld. _Why didI have to bring that up?_ Aloud, he said, "I ought to check the groundcrew. Did you bring the forms?"
"Nope. Just my magnificent self. If anything had gone astray, they'dhave told you."
"All the same, I think I'll go down and question the troops. Don't leavewithout me." He clambered out onto the catwalk, leaving the air lockopen. The sun was riding higher every minute. In a little over an hour,he'd be a thousand miles away--vertically. The k
The inspection forms signed, Mac held a short interrogation with thecrew chief. The grizzled lieutenant, commissioned because of his longexperience and responsibilities, gave _Valier_ a clean bill of health.Each engine of the booster stage had been fired separately, before dawn.A cubic foot of mercury seemed to roll from Mac's shoulders as he sawLogan and Ruiz lounging at the bottom of the lift; there wasn't anythingto worry about. He recalled feeling the tension before the other threeflights, then chided himself. _Ya, ya, scared-y cat. Well, why not? It'sa helluva risk every time you make