apparently uninjured—dash into the space station’s entry port, guided along by Ken Horton.
Chow was whimpering, "Oh, I hope and pray Tom’s all right."
The ship pilot moored the Loonaui again in frantic haste. This time the magnetic grapples locked perfectly. Then all aboard rushed out through the airlock and into the space wheel.
Chow, puffing mightily, was already at Tom’s side, as were Bud, Arv, and many members of the outpost team. Tom was crouched on the deck, Ken Horton bending over him. A moment later they were all gulping with relief as Tom greeted them with a grin. His right hand was sticking from the cuff of his spacesuit sleeve, sound and unharmed—and best of all, in place.
"Don’t worry. Even my fingers still work," Tom told them after they had removed their space helmets. He proved it by wiggling his fingers.
Ben Archibald sunk down onto the deck to recover from the shock. "Mr. Swift—Tom—can you ever forgive me for pulling such a dumb stunt?" he pleaded in a dry-throated voice. "I shouldn’t have nudged the ship forward like I did. I—I got impatient, I guess."
"It wasn’t your fault," Tom reassured the shaken astronaut. "I gave you the go-ahead signal and I saw the ship coming. But my metal gauntlet got trapped by the magnetic pull of the coupling as soon as it started functioning properly. I couldn’t yank it loose in time."
As the astronaut nodded, Bud Barclay mopped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. "Accidents happen," he said to Ben, but giving his pal a meaningful side-glance with eyebrows raised. "Part of being human. It’s in the job description."
Chow and the other crew members were still pale. "I don’t see how you escaped losing a hand, Tom," one crewman said.
"As soon as I realized my gauntlet was stuck to the coupling, I pulled my hand up the sleeve," Tom explained. "Just in the nick of time, too. Luckily I was able to seal my sleeve almost airtight by clutching it with both hands, inside with my right and outside with my left—otherwise I’d really have been in a mess!"
"Brand my asteroid soup, I don’t never want to see sech a close call again!" Chow muttered weakly. He added in wry resignation: "Not that I don’t expect to—prob’ly afore dinner!"
Tom labored over his cosmic reactor for the next two days, solving some technical problems that had shown up in the unscheduled test and additional trials. He had it removed from the hull and worked over it in the lab spoke. When he was satisfied, he and Bud put on space suits and set up the device on the outside of the outpost’s hub—a safer position for it. Even a low input of cosmic subtrino radiation proved enough to give a small but measurable push to the whole space station.
Both boys were flushed with excitement when they returned inside the station and described the results to Ken Horton.
"It works—definitely," Tom reported.
"You’re telling me!" Ken chuckled. "I thought for a while you were going to knock us right out of orbit."
As station routine returned to normal after Tom’s crossed-fingers crucial test, Chow headed to the galley. Knowing that this would be the last dinner aboard the outpost before the visitors returned to Earth, he had big plans. The larder was well stocked, and he’d had previous experience turning frozen and dehydrated edibles into incredible simulations. By mess time that evening the Texan had prepared a magnificent feast of roast turkey, dressing, and chocolate pudding topped with whipped cream.
"Man, what a dinner!" said Ken Horton appreciatively when the meal was over. "You should visit us up here more often, Chow!"
The rest of the crew agreed heartily. "Maybe we could talk him into staying," one technician suggested.
Chow’s leathery face broke into a happy grin. "Nothin’ a cook likes better than to feed folks with a good appetite," he said. "I sure appreciate your kind invitation, but I better stick to my reg’lar job—slingin’ hash on Tom’s
Chow was whimpering, "Oh, I hope and pray Tom’s all right."
The ship pilot moored the Loonaui again in frantic haste. This time the magnetic grapples locked perfectly. Then all aboard rushed out through the airlock and into the space wheel.
Chow, puffing mightily, was already at Tom’s side, as were Bud, Arv, and many members of the outpost team. Tom was crouched on the deck, Ken Horton bending over him. A moment later they were all gulping with relief as Tom greeted them with a grin. His right hand was sticking from the cuff of his spacesuit sleeve, sound and unharmed—and best of all, in place.
"Don’t worry. Even my fingers still work," Tom told them after they had removed their space helmets. He proved it by wiggling his fingers.
Ben Archibald sunk down onto the deck to recover from the shock. "Mr. Swift—Tom—can you ever forgive me for pulling such a dumb stunt?" he pleaded in a dry-throated voice. "I shouldn’t have nudged the ship forward like I did. I—I got impatient, I guess."
"It wasn’t your fault," Tom reassured the shaken astronaut. "I gave you the go-ahead signal and I saw the ship coming. But my metal gauntlet got trapped by the magnetic pull of the coupling as soon as it started functioning properly. I couldn’t yank it loose in time."
As the astronaut nodded, Bud Barclay mopped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. "Accidents happen," he said to Ben, but giving his pal a meaningful side-glance with eyebrows raised. "Part of being human. It’s in the job description."
Chow and the other crew members were still pale. "I don’t see how you escaped losing a hand, Tom," one crewman said.
"As soon as I realized my gauntlet was stuck to the coupling, I pulled my hand up the sleeve," Tom explained. "Just in the nick of time, too. Luckily I was able to seal my sleeve almost airtight by clutching it with both hands, inside with my right and outside with my left—otherwise I’d really have been in a mess!"
"Brand my asteroid soup, I don’t never want to see sech a close call again!" Chow muttered weakly. He added in wry resignation: "Not that I don’t expect to—prob’ly afore dinner!"
Tom labored over his cosmic reactor for the next two days, solving some technical problems that had shown up in the unscheduled test and additional trials. He had it removed from the hull and worked over it in the lab spoke. When he was satisfied, he and Bud put on space suits and set up the device on the outside of the outpost’s hub—a safer position for it. Even a low input of cosmic subtrino radiation proved enough to give a small but measurable push to the whole space station.
Both boys were flushed with excitement when they returned inside the station and described the results to Ken Horton.
"It works—definitely," Tom reported.
"You’re telling me!" Ken chuckled. "I thought for a while you were going to knock us right out of orbit."
As station routine returned to normal after Tom’s crossed-fingers crucial test, Chow headed to the galley. Knowing that this would be the last dinner aboard the outpost before the visitors returned to Earth, he had big plans. The larder was well stocked, and he’d had previous experience turning frozen and dehydrated edibles into incredible simulations. By mess time that evening the Texan had prepared a magnificent feast of roast turkey, dressing, and chocolate pudding topped with whipped cream.
"Man, what a dinner!" said Ken Horton appreciatively when the meal was over. "You should visit us up here more often, Chow!"
The rest of the crew agreed heartily. "Maybe we could talk him into staying," one technician suggested.
Chow’s leathery face broke into a happy grin. "Nothin’ a cook likes better than to feed folks with a good appetite," he said. "I sure appreciate your kind invitation, but I better stick to my reg’lar job—slingin’ hash on Tom’s
Similar Books
