Tight Squeeze by Dean Charles Ing
a shot, in spite of all thepropaganda. Hooey; if you didn't know everything's O.K., you wouldn't begetting ready to make the shot. Yeah, but you never can tell_----Hestopped his inward battle and forced some spring into his step as hemoved toward Logan and Ruiz.
"I've tried my best to abort this big bug, but I can't find anythingamiss."
"That's Granny MacNamara for you," jibed Logan. "Always trying to findfault." He winked at Ruiz and rubbed his hands together. "Well--tennis,anyone?"
Mac knew without asking that Logan, for all his apparent indifference,had painstakingly gone over every phase of the flight, checkingdistribution, radar, final instructions from Operations, weather, _etal_. Ruiz, as usual, watched and took notes as Logan gathered data.
* * * * *
At minus fifteen minutes, the trio was in the dome, checking personalequipment, while outside, the scaffolding ponderously slid away, sectionby section.
There was little time for soliloquies of _to go, or not to go_; withinthe quarter-hour, Captain Ruiz and Majors MacNamara and Logan would bein readiness for the final count-down. With the emergency bail-outequipment checked, the men busied themselves on another continuity testof the myriad circuits spread like a human neural system throughout theship. All relays, servo systems and instrument leads were in perfectcondition as expected, and the trio was settled comfortably inacceleration couches with minutes to spare.
Logan contacted Ground Control a few seconds after the minus-threeminute signal, informing all and sundry that Gridley could fire whenready. MacNamara sighed, thinking that if Logan's humor wasn't exactlyoriginal, it was surely tenacious.
The ship was brought to dim half-life at minus one minute by Logan'sagile fingers, and as the final countdown rasped in his headset, Macfelt his innards wrestle among themselves.
_Valier_ bellowed her enthusiasm suddenly, lifting her eightthousand-odd tons from the ground almost instantly. Inside, heroccupants grimaced helplessly as they watched various instruments guidetiny pointers across calibrated faces. Mac's throat mike threatened tocrush his Adam's apple, weighing five times its usual few ounces. Of hissenses, sound was the one that dominated him; an intolerable, continuousexplosion from the motors racked his mind like tidal waves of formicacid. He forced himself to overcome the numbness which his brain cast upto defend itself. Then, as quickly as it had begun, _Valier_ felldeafeningly silent; that meant Mach 1 was passed.
It was an eternity before stage one separated. The loss of the emptyhulk was hardly felt as _Valier_ streaked high over the Texas border.Ruiz, watching the radarscope, saw Lubbock slide into focus miles below._Next stop, Fort Worth_, he thought. _I used to drive that in fivehours._ The jagged line of the caprock told him they were well on theirway to Fort Worth already.
The altimeter showed slightly over forty-two miles when stage twodetached itself. Logan, in constant contact with White Sands, wasinformed that they were tracking perfectly as _Valier_ arrowed overcentral Texas toward rendezvous at the doughnut. The exhausted lowerstages were forgotten now; only the second stage was of any concernanyway. The radar boys tracked it all the way down, ready to detonate ithigh in the air if its huge 'chutes wafted it near any inhabitedcommunity.
The motors of stage three blasted for a carefully calculated fewseconds, then cut out automatically. With the destitution of his weight,Mac felt his spirits soar also. They were almost in orbit, now, climbingat a slight angle with a velocity sufficient to carry them around Earthforever, a streamlined, tiny satellite.
After the first few moments of disorientation, rocket crews found that aweightless condition gave them, ambiguously, a buoyant feeling. Only thedoughnut crew had really adapted to this condition, living as they didwithout the effects of gravity for hours at a time every day. Thetemporary "housing" was rotated for comfort of the crews during restperiods, but while moving the plates and girders of the giant doughnutinto place, they had no such luxuries. For these men, weightlessnessbecame an integral part of their activities, but the rocket crews weresubjected to this phenomenon only during the few hours needed torendezvous, unload the cargo, and coast back after another initialperiod of acceleration.
Hence, Mac felt a strange elation when he tapped his fingers on the armof his couch and saw his arm float upward, due to reaction from the tap.
Against all regulations, Logan unstrapped himself and motioned hiscomrades to do the same. This unorthodox seventh-inning stretch wasprohibited because it left the pilot's arm-rest controls without anoperator, hence could prove disastrous if, through some malfunction, theship should veer off course.
The autopilot functioned perfectly, however, and Logan trusted it to thepoint of insouciance. The three men lounged in midair, grinningfoolishly as they "swam" about the tiny cabin. No more satisfyingstretch was ever enjoyed.
A few minutes of this was enough. Ruiz was the first to gingerly pullhimself into his couch and his companions followed. Not a word hadpassed between them, since they were at all times in contact withmonitor stations spaced across the world below. The first time they hadenjoyed this irregular horseplay, on the second trip, Logan had made themistake of saying, "Race you to the air lock!", and was hard put toexplain those words. Nor could Logan switch to "intercom only," since asudden radio silence would create anxiety below. Only their heavybreathing would indicate unusual activity to Earthside.
* * * * *
They were nearing the intercept point, a thousand miles above theAtlantic, when they realized their predicament.
"I'm in a fix, Carl," said Ruiz, meaning that he had tentatively fixed aposition of intercept. "Correct our elevation; we're point-nine degreeshigh."
"Right-o. Correction in five seconds from my mark--mark!"
For slight corrections in the flight path, small steering motors wereutilized. These motors were located near the rear lip of _Valier's_conical cargo section on retractable booms. Extension of the motors withno resultant air friction gave a longer pivot arm and consequentlybetter efficiency. Mac pressed the "Aux. Steer" stud and immediatelythree amber lights winked on in their respective instrument consoles.
Carl Logan fired the twelve o'clock motor briefly--only it didn't fire.The change in momentum wouldn't be much in any case, but it was alwaysperceptible by feel and by instrument. There was no change.
Logan tried the firing circuit again, and again. Still _Valier_ streakedalong, now miles above the intended point of intercept. By this time,the embryo space station was quite near, sailing along in the 'scopebeneath them. It slowly moved toward the top of the 'scope, passing_Valier_ in its slightly higher relative velocity.
"We've got troubles, Mac--find 'em!" Logan had finally lost thedevil-may-care attitude, but that fact was small consolation toMacNamara.
"Keep your mitts off those firing studs, Carl," he growled, unstrappinghimself quickly. The malfunction was definitely in the auxiliary motorsetup, he thought. A common trouble? It wouldn't pay to find out. If theother motors fired, it would only throw them farther off-course. Ifworst came to worst, they could roll _Valier_ over and use the sixo'clock auxiliary; there was a small arc through which the motors couldturn on their mounts. But the trouble was unknown, and they might end uprifling or pinwheeling if they didn't let bad enough alone.
During his mental trouble-shooting, Mac was busily worming his bulk intoa balloonish-looking suit identical to those worn by the doughnut'sconstruction crew. Ruiz gave him some aid, helping him thrust his armspast the spring-folded elbow joints. For some reason, the legs gave lesstrouble. Within a fumbling few moments, he was ready for work.
He glanced at Logan through his visor, feeling a vicious pleasure overthe beads of sweat on Logan's forehead. Time he sweated a little,thought the mechanic.
A final check of his headset followed, after which Mac oozed into theLilliputian air lock at the bottom, now rear, wall of the cabin. Henodded to Ruiz, who secured the air lock, then adjusted his suit controlto force a little pressure into his suit. G
radually the suit becamelivable. Then he cracked the other air-lock valve and allowed pressureto leak out around him.
His suit puffed out with soft popping noises and Mac heard the lastvestige of air hiss out of the chamber. He found the hatchway too tightfor comfort and had a moment of fear when his tool pack caught in theorifice, wedging him neatly. He could hear Logan and Ruiz through hisearphones, explaining their plight to Ground Control. They wanted toknow why in blue blazes _Valier_ hadn't contacted the doughnut when itcame within range, and Logan had no defense save preoccupation with hisown plight. Belatedly, Ruiz made radio contact with the doughnut, whichwas still well within range. All this time, Mac busied himself with hisinspection light, tracing the electrical leads to the small, turbineoperated auxiliary motor fuel pumps.
"Mac?" Logan's voice startled him. "Can you brace yourself? I'm going totry to match velocities with the doughnut. Won't take over one 'g' for afew seconds."
"Wait a minute." He looked wildly about him. _Valier_ hadn't been builtwith a view toward stowaways; and every cubic inch of space was crammedwith something, except for the passageway with its ladder, leading upfrom the main motor section. Well, if it wasn't over a "g," he couldhang on to the ladder. Suit weighs another fifty pounds, though. Myweight plus fifty, he thought. "Give me a chance to get set," he saidaloud. He hooked one bulbous leg over a ladder rung and braced the otheragainst a lower rung, hugging the ladder with both arms. "Any time yousay, but kill it if you hear me holler!"
"Then five seconds from my mark--mark!" Mac tightened his grip, and thensagged backward as the main motors fired. The vibrations shook himslightly but deeply, and he fought to keep his hold. He felt his backcreak and pop with the sudden surge of weight. Then the motors shut off,and Mac skidded several feet up the ladder. No matter how fast a man'sreactions were, they couldn't be applied quickly enough to keep him fromstarting an involuntary leap after bracing against a suddenly removedgravity load. "All over, Mac. You O.K.?"
"Guess so, but I feel like a ping-pong ball. How're we sittin'?"
"Just fine," Ruiz cut in. "Find anything?"
"Not yet." Mac started his search anew. Everything seemed in perfectorder up to the turbine pumps. Then, he feared, the trouble was near thelittle motors. That was tough, really tough. With the motors retractedit was next to impossible to get to them, past their hydraulicallyoperated booms and actuators. Extended, he'd have to go outside. Hecringed from the thought, although he knew that there was little to fearif he linked himself to the ship.
He peered along the beam of light, searching for some telltalediscoloration in wiring, or a gleaming icy patch which would indicate afuel leak. "Might be the firing plugs," he muttered.
"Let's hope not. Where are you, Mac? Maybe you better give us ablow-by-blow." Logan sounded worried.
"Good idea. Right now I'm at the nine o'clock actuator. Nothing so far."He looked around himself, forgetting for the moment how he was supposedto get past the equipment to the other auxiliary motor stations.
"Johnny," he said slowly, "I think you'd best break out the tapes.Auxiliary motor system; you'll find them under power plant." Monthsbefore, MacNamara had made a complete set of tape recordings of his ownvoice, recorded as he made a thorough-going rundown of every system andits components. This was a personal innovation which his fellow flightengineers considered folly. Extra weight, they scoffed. Unduecomplication. Mac nodded and went on with his impromptu speechmaking; aprofessional psychiatrist might have said, correctly, that Mac felt anunconscious need for supervision, a forgivable deficiency dating back tohis cadet days. Mac simply claimed that the best of men could forget oromit when alone with a few million dollars' worth of Uncle's equipment.This way he could remind himself of each step to be taken ahead of time,in his own way.
The co-pilot rushed to comply. Mac, waiting, suddenly remembered how toget past his obstacle. Internal braces which helped keep the tanksrigidly in place on Earth were of little use while in "freeloading," orgravity-less, state. The braces were removable, and Mac had loosened asingle wing-nut to let the brace swing loose when he heard Johnny Ruiz'sanswer.
"Ready with your tape, Mac. Where shall I start it?"
"Run it through 'til you get to a blank spot, then another, then stopit." He was certain he didn't really need the tape, but it was amaintenance aid and he was determined to use it.
He heard a click, then a hum, as the recorder was jacked into hisheadset circuit. Immediately, a familiar voice began a slow dissertationon power leads from the dome, speeded up in the space of a second or twoto a high-pitched alien gibberish, then to a faint scream. He begansquirming around the turbine tanks, got past the first brace, and turnedto attach it again. Of course it wasn't necessary, but--"PLAY IT SAFE"was embroidered on his brain by years of maintenance experience; back inhis old maintenance squadron, he'd been called "the old lady" instead of"the old man," due to his insistence on precautions.
Ruiz slowed the tape suddenly, on cue, and Mac heard himself saying,"... Brace back in its slot and pin it. Be careful of those linkages onthe turbine pumps. Now crawl around to the next brace and unpin it."Pause, scraping noises, and a muttered oath. "Pin sticks, but it won'twithout a load on it." It didn't.
He worked slower than he had on the ground, fumbling with the heavygloves and cursing mightily. His voice rambled on, warning him ofobstacles and reminding him about minor points that could give trouble.He listened carefully, discarding each suggestion.
Floating near the twelve o'clock auxiliary, Mac peered at each tubingconnection, tugging and twisting. "Wait a minute," he said. His lightflashed out at the motor, riding perched on its swivel, limned againstcold, hard points of light that were the stars. His heart gave a bound."I think I've found it!" His other voice droned on morbidly. "Turn thatthing off a minute, Johnny. Listen; there's a lead to the twelve o'clockfuel valve solenoid that looks like ... yes, I'm sure of it. It's pulledaway from a bracket and looks like it might be charred." Mac twistedaround to view the wiring better.
"Can you fix it?"
"Oh, sure, if that's all there is wrong. But I'd rather do the work withthe motors retracted. Tell you what; retract them about forty-fivedegrees when I give the word."
* * * * *
Mac judged the distance the booms would cover during semiretraction andhalf floated, half crawled out of the way. He found himself breathingheavily, despite the freeload conditions. His suit was simply toocumbersome. The thought came to him that he didn't even know how longhe'd been out of the dome. His breathing oxygen gauge showed half empty,so he must have been on the job for around a half hour. He rationed hissupply a bit, hoping he could finish the job without a refill.
"O.K., Johnny, you can run the tape again. And retract the motors whileyou're at it." He heard the tape start again on its course, watching thebooms.
They leaped inward, then, and Mac felt a crushing blow across his back.He shook his head groggily and yelled.
He tried to scramble from his place between motor and turbine fuel lineswithout success; he was trapped like a wild animal by the heavy actuatorwhich had swung past his head. He heard himself say, "And be sure tostay clear of the actuator. It swings through a ninety-degree arc whenit's operated."
"Oh, shut up! I know it; I just judged it wrong." The tape moved onunperturbedly, reminding him to inspect the actuator bearings andextension rods.
"Mac," came Logan's voice, "you might try to hurry it. If you can't getit fixed in an hour or two, we'll have to try rolling _Valier_ down tothe doughnut. But it's up to you, fella. Take your time."
"Well, you might help me a bit by raising this hydraulic unit offa myshoulders. Lucky it didn't squash me." The actuator stayed where it was."Johnny! Carl! Do you read me?" No answer. Obviously, the actuator hadsmashed his transmitter, but left the receiver section intact. Then allhe could hope for would be a suspicion from one of the others that allwas not well. If they asked him any questions and he failed to reply,they'd figure something was
wrong. Well, he couldn't count on that.
He struggled with his vulcanized suit, trying to squeeze from under theactuator. If I'd had them retract it completely, he thought, I'd be adead man. It was a tight squeeze, but he inched his way out of the trapby using every ounce of strength at his command. If his suit tore, he'dknow it in a hurry.
Gasping for breath, Mac drew himself into a crouch and regarded theoffending wire. His flashlight still operated, and he could see theheavy insulation which had been scraped away. No charring; then it musthave been the extension rods that had scissored through the insulation.The wire hung together by a thread, the strands of metal severedcompletely. He groped for his tool kit, trying to ignore the voice inhis headset.
"Well, that takes care of the actuators. Now for these dinky motors. Theswivel mounts have to work without any lubricant, so look forindications of wear and--"
Mac cursed under his breath. He sounded so cocksure, so all-knowing. Hefelt like beating himself. His earlier self, who had blithely toured_Valier_ trailing the microphone wires without any real premonition oftrouble. It always happens to the other guy--Not this time, chum, hereminded himself.
The gloves were systematically foiling his attempts to withdraw the coilof wire at his side. The tool kit was the ultimate in
"I've tried my best to abort this big bug, but I can't find anythingamiss."
"That's Granny MacNamara for you," jibed Logan. "Always trying to findfault." He winked at Ruiz and rubbed his hands together. "Well--tennis,anyone?"
Mac knew without asking that Logan, for all his apparent indifference,had painstakingly gone over every phase of the flight, checkingdistribution, radar, final instructions from Operations, weather, _etal_. Ruiz, as usual, watched and took notes as Logan gathered data.
* * * * *
At minus fifteen minutes, the trio was in the dome, checking personalequipment, while outside, the scaffolding ponderously slid away, sectionby section.
There was little time for soliloquies of _to go, or not to go_; withinthe quarter-hour, Captain Ruiz and Majors MacNamara and Logan would bein readiness for the final count-down. With the emergency bail-outequipment checked, the men busied themselves on another continuity testof the myriad circuits spread like a human neural system throughout theship. All relays, servo systems and instrument leads were in perfectcondition as expected, and the trio was settled comfortably inacceleration couches with minutes to spare.
Logan contacted Ground Control a few seconds after the minus-threeminute signal, informing all and sundry that Gridley could fire whenready. MacNamara sighed, thinking that if Logan's humor wasn't exactlyoriginal, it was surely tenacious.
The ship was brought to dim half-life at minus one minute by Logan'sagile fingers, and as the final countdown rasped in his headset, Macfelt his innards wrestle among themselves.
_Valier_ bellowed her enthusiasm suddenly, lifting her eightthousand-odd tons from the ground almost instantly. Inside, heroccupants grimaced helplessly as they watched various instruments guidetiny pointers across calibrated faces. Mac's throat mike threatened tocrush his Adam's apple, weighing five times its usual few ounces. Of hissenses, sound was the one that dominated him; an intolerable, continuousexplosion from the motors racked his mind like tidal waves of formicacid. He forced himself to overcome the numbness which his brain cast upto defend itself. Then, as quickly as it had begun, _Valier_ felldeafeningly silent; that meant Mach 1 was passed.
It was an eternity before stage one separated. The loss of the emptyhulk was hardly felt as _Valier_ streaked high over the Texas border.Ruiz, watching the radarscope, saw Lubbock slide into focus miles below._Next stop, Fort Worth_, he thought. _I used to drive that in fivehours._ The jagged line of the caprock told him they were well on theirway to Fort Worth already.
The altimeter showed slightly over forty-two miles when stage twodetached itself. Logan, in constant contact with White Sands, wasinformed that they were tracking perfectly as _Valier_ arrowed overcentral Texas toward rendezvous at the doughnut. The exhausted lowerstages were forgotten now; only the second stage was of any concernanyway. The radar boys tracked it all the way down, ready to detonate ithigh in the air if its huge 'chutes wafted it near any inhabitedcommunity.
The motors of stage three blasted for a carefully calculated fewseconds, then cut out automatically. With the destitution of his weight,Mac felt his spirits soar also. They were almost in orbit, now, climbingat a slight angle with a velocity sufficient to carry them around Earthforever, a streamlined, tiny satellite.
After the first few moments of disorientation, rocket crews found that aweightless condition gave them, ambiguously, a buoyant feeling. Only thedoughnut crew had really adapted to this condition, living as they didwithout the effects of gravity for hours at a time every day. Thetemporary "housing" was rotated for comfort of the crews during restperiods, but while moving the plates and girders of the giant doughnutinto place, they had no such luxuries. For these men, weightlessnessbecame an integral part of their activities, but the rocket crews weresubjected to this phenomenon only during the few hours needed torendezvous, unload the cargo, and coast back after another initialperiod of acceleration.
Hence, Mac felt a strange elation when he tapped his fingers on the armof his couch and saw his arm float upward, due to reaction from the tap.
Against all regulations, Logan unstrapped himself and motioned hiscomrades to do the same. This unorthodox seventh-inning stretch wasprohibited because it left the pilot's arm-rest controls without anoperator, hence could prove disastrous if, through some malfunction, theship should veer off course.
The autopilot functioned perfectly, however, and Logan trusted it to thepoint of insouciance. The three men lounged in midair, grinningfoolishly as they "swam" about the tiny cabin. No more satisfyingstretch was ever enjoyed.
A few minutes of this was enough. Ruiz was the first to gingerly pullhimself into his couch and his companions followed. Not a word hadpassed between them, since they were at all times in contact withmonitor stations spaced across the world below. The first time they hadenjoyed this irregular horseplay, on the second trip, Logan had made themistake of saying, "Race you to the air lock!", and was hard put toexplain those words. Nor could Logan switch to "intercom only," since asudden radio silence would create anxiety below. Only their heavybreathing would indicate unusual activity to Earthside.
* * * * *
They were nearing the intercept point, a thousand miles above theAtlantic, when they realized their predicament.
"I'm in a fix, Carl," said Ruiz, meaning that he had tentatively fixed aposition of intercept. "Correct our elevation; we're point-nine degreeshigh."
"Right-o. Correction in five seconds from my mark--mark!"
For slight corrections in the flight path, small steering motors wereutilized. These motors were located near the rear lip of _Valier's_conical cargo section on retractable booms. Extension of the motors withno resultant air friction gave a longer pivot arm and consequentlybetter efficiency. Mac pressed the "Aux. Steer" stud and immediatelythree amber lights winked on in their respective instrument consoles.
Carl Logan fired the twelve o'clock motor briefly--only it didn't fire.The change in momentum wouldn't be much in any case, but it was alwaysperceptible by feel and by instrument. There was no change.
Logan tried the firing circuit again, and again. Still _Valier_ streakedalong, now miles above the intended point of intercept. By this time,the embryo space station was quite near, sailing along in the 'scopebeneath them. It slowly moved toward the top of the 'scope, passing_Valier_ in its slightly higher relative velocity.
"We've got troubles, Mac--find 'em!" Logan had finally lost thedevil-may-care attitude, but that fact was small consolation toMacNamara.
"Keep your mitts off those firing studs, Carl," he growled, unstrappinghimself quickly. The malfunction was definitely in the auxiliary motorsetup, he thought. A common trouble? It wouldn't pay to find out. If theother motors fired, it would only throw them farther off-course. Ifworst came to worst, they could roll _Valier_ over and use the sixo'clock auxiliary; there was a small arc through which the motors couldturn on their mounts. But the trouble was unknown, and they might end uprifling or pinwheeling if they didn't let bad enough alone.
During his mental trouble-shooting, Mac was busily worming his bulk intoa balloonish-looking suit identical to those worn by the doughnut'sconstruction crew. Ruiz gave him some aid, helping him thrust his armspast the spring-folded elbow joints. For some reason, the legs gave lesstrouble. Within a fumbling few moments, he was ready for work.
He glanced at Logan through his visor, feeling a vicious pleasure overthe beads of sweat on Logan's forehead. Time he sweated a little,thought the mechanic.
A final check of his headset followed, after which Mac oozed into theLilliputian air lock at the bottom, now rear, wall of the cabin. Henodded to Ruiz, who secured the air lock, then adjusted his suit controlto force a little pressure into his suit. G
His suit puffed out with soft popping noises and Mac heard the lastvestige of air hiss out of the chamber. He found the hatchway too tightfor comfort and had a moment of fear when his tool pack caught in theorifice, wedging him neatly. He could hear Logan and Ruiz through hisearphones, explaining their plight to Ground Control. They wanted toknow why in blue blazes _Valier_ hadn't contacted the doughnut when itcame within range, and Logan had no defense save preoccupation with hisown plight. Belatedly, Ruiz made radio contact with the doughnut, whichwas still well within range. All this time, Mac busied himself with hisinspection light, tracing the electrical leads to the small, turbineoperated auxiliary motor fuel pumps.
"Mac?" Logan's voice startled him. "Can you brace yourself? I'm going totry to match velocities with the doughnut. Won't take over one 'g' for afew seconds."
"Wait a minute." He looked wildly about him. _Valier_ hadn't been builtwith a view toward stowaways; and every cubic inch of space was crammedwith something, except for the passageway with its ladder, leading upfrom the main motor section. Well, if it wasn't over a "g," he couldhang on to the ladder. Suit weighs another fifty pounds, though. Myweight plus fifty, he thought. "Give me a chance to get set," he saidaloud. He hooked one bulbous leg over a ladder rung and braced the otheragainst a lower rung, hugging the ladder with both arms. "Any time yousay, but kill it if you hear me holler!"
"Then five seconds from my mark--mark!" Mac tightened his grip, and thensagged backward as the main motors fired. The vibrations shook himslightly but deeply, and he fought to keep his hold. He felt his backcreak and pop with the sudden surge of weight. Then the motors shut off,and Mac skidded several feet up the ladder. No matter how fast a man'sreactions were, they couldn't be applied quickly enough to keep him fromstarting an involuntary leap after bracing against a suddenly removedgravity load. "All over, Mac. You O.K.?"
"Guess so, but I feel like a ping-pong ball. How're we sittin'?"
"Just fine," Ruiz cut in. "Find anything?"
"Not yet." Mac started his search anew. Everything seemed in perfectorder up to the turbine pumps. Then, he feared, the trouble was near thelittle motors. That was tough, really tough. With the motors retractedit was next to impossible to get to them, past their hydraulicallyoperated booms and actuators. Extended, he'd have to go outside. Hecringed from the thought, although he knew that there was little to fearif he linked himself to the ship.
He peered along the beam of light, searching for some telltalediscoloration in wiring, or a gleaming icy patch which would indicate afuel leak. "Might be the firing plugs," he muttered.
"Let's hope not. Where are you, Mac? Maybe you better give us ablow-by-blow." Logan sounded worried.
"Good idea. Right now I'm at the nine o'clock actuator. Nothing so far."He looked around himself, forgetting for the moment how he was supposedto get past the equipment to the other auxiliary motor stations.
"Johnny," he said slowly, "I think you'd best break out the tapes.Auxiliary motor system; you'll find them under power plant." Monthsbefore, MacNamara had made a complete set of tape recordings of his ownvoice, recorded as he made a thorough-going rundown of every system andits components. This was a personal innovation which his fellow flightengineers considered folly. Extra weight, they scoffed. Unduecomplication. Mac nodded and went on with his impromptu speechmaking; aprofessional psychiatrist might have said, correctly, that Mac felt anunconscious need for supervision, a forgivable deficiency dating back tohis cadet days. Mac simply claimed that the best of men could forget oromit when alone with a few million dollars' worth of Uncle's equipment.This way he could remind himself of each step to be taken ahead of time,in his own way.
The co-pilot rushed to comply. Mac, waiting, suddenly remembered how toget past his obstacle. Internal braces which helped keep the tanksrigidly in place on Earth were of little use while in "freeloading," orgravity-less, state. The braces were removable, and Mac had loosened asingle wing-nut to let the brace swing loose when he heard Johnny Ruiz'sanswer.
"Ready with your tape, Mac. Where shall I start it?"
"Run it through 'til you get to a blank spot, then another, then stopit." He was certain he didn't really need the tape, but it was amaintenance aid and he was determined to use it.
He heard a click, then a hum, as the recorder was jacked into hisheadset circuit. Immediately, a familiar voice began a slow dissertationon power leads from the dome, speeded up in the space of a second or twoto a high-pitched alien gibberish, then to a faint scream. He begansquirming around the turbine tanks, got past the first brace, and turnedto attach it again. Of course it wasn't necessary, but--"PLAY IT SAFE"was embroidered on his brain by years of maintenance experience; back inhis old maintenance squadron, he'd been called "the old lady" instead of"the old man," due to his insistence on precautions.
Ruiz slowed the tape suddenly, on cue, and Mac heard himself saying,"... Brace back in its slot and pin it. Be careful of those linkages onthe turbine pumps. Now crawl around to the next brace and unpin it."Pause, scraping noises, and a muttered oath. "Pin sticks, but it won'twithout a load on it." It didn't.
He worked slower than he had on the ground, fumbling with the heavygloves and cursing mightily. His voice rambled on, warning him ofobstacles and reminding him about minor points that could give trouble.He listened carefully, discarding each suggestion.
Floating near the twelve o'clock auxiliary, Mac peered at each tubingconnection, tugging and twisting. "Wait a minute," he said. His lightflashed out at the motor, riding perched on its swivel, limned againstcold, hard points of light that were the stars. His heart gave a bound."I think I've found it!" His other voice droned on morbidly. "Turn thatthing off a minute, Johnny. Listen; there's a lead to the twelve o'clockfuel valve solenoid that looks like ... yes, I'm sure of it. It's pulledaway from a bracket and looks like it might be charred." Mac twistedaround to view the wiring better.
"Can you fix it?"
"Oh, sure, if that's all there is wrong. But I'd rather do the work withthe motors retracted. Tell you what; retract them about forty-fivedegrees when I give the word."
* * * * *
Mac judged the distance the booms would cover during semiretraction andhalf floated, half crawled out of the way. He found himself breathingheavily, despite the freeload conditions. His suit was simply toocumbersome. The thought came to him that he didn't even know how longhe'd been out of the dome. His breathing oxygen gauge showed half empty,so he must have been on the job for around a half hour. He rationed hissupply a bit, hoping he could finish the job without a refill.
"O.K., Johnny, you can run the tape again. And retract the motors whileyou're at it." He heard the tape start again on its course, watching thebooms.
They leaped inward, then, and Mac felt a crushing blow across his back.He shook his head groggily and yelled.
He tried to scramble from his place between motor and turbine fuel lineswithout success; he was trapped like a wild animal by the heavy actuatorwhich had swung past his head. He heard himself say, "And be sure tostay clear of the actuator. It swings through a ninety-degree arc whenit's operated."
"Oh, shut up! I know it; I just judged it wrong." The tape moved onunperturbedly, reminding him to inspect the actuator bearings andextension rods.
"Mac," came Logan's voice, "you might try to hurry it. If you can't getit fixed in an hour or two, we'll have to try rolling _Valier_ down tothe doughnut. But it's up to you, fella. Take your time."
"Well, you might help me a bit by raising this hydraulic unit offa myshoulders. Lucky it didn't squash me." The actuator stayed where it was."Johnny! Carl! Do you read me?" No answer. Obviously, the actuator hadsmashed his transmitter, but left the receiver section intact. Then allhe could hope for would be a suspicion from one of the others that allwas not well. If they asked him any questions and he failed to reply,they'd figure something was
He struggled with his vulcanized suit, trying to squeeze from under theactuator. If I'd had them retract it completely, he thought, I'd be adead man. It was a tight squeeze, but he inched his way out of the trapby using every ounce of strength at his command. If his suit tore, he'dknow it in a hurry.
Gasping for breath, Mac drew himself into a crouch and regarded theoffending wire. His flashlight still operated, and he could see theheavy insulation which had been scraped away. No charring; then it musthave been the extension rods that had scissored through the insulation.The wire hung together by a thread, the strands of metal severedcompletely. He groped for his tool kit, trying to ignore the voice inhis headset.
"Well, that takes care of the actuators. Now for these dinky motors. Theswivel mounts have to work without any lubricant, so look forindications of wear and--"
Mac cursed under his breath. He sounded so cocksure, so all-knowing. Hefelt like beating himself. His earlier self, who had blithely toured_Valier_ trailing the microphone wires without any real premonition oftrouble. It always happens to the other guy--Not this time, chum, hereminded himself.
The gloves were systematically foiling his attempts to withdraw the coilof wire at his side. The tool kit was the ultimate in