There was an interval for him to view the outer world and
accept the verdict of the counter and then Rip voiced Dane's question:
"Can we shield one of the flitters well enough to cross that? I can't
take the Queen up and earth her again--"
"I know you can't!" the acting-engineer cut in. "Maybe you could get her
off world, but you'll come close to blasting out when you try for another
landing. Fuel doesn't go on forever--though some of you space jockeys
seem to think it does. The flitter? Well, we've some spare rocket
linings. But it's going to be a job and a half to get those beaten out
and reassembled. And, frankly, the space whirly one who flies her had
better be suited and praying loudly when he takes off. We can always
try--" He was frowning, already busied with the problem which was one for
his department.
So with intervals of snatched sleep, hurried meals and the time which
must be given to tending their unconscious charges, Rip and Dane became
only hands to be directed by Ali's brain and garnered knowledge. Weeks
slept off the worst of his pain and, though he complained of weakness, he
tottered back on duty to help.
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