From time to time, he chanced a quick look at the progress of the other two. Blair was standing now at the very edge of the scored section, guiding Dan both with words and with arm and body movements. Dan was tugging slowly, first to the left and then to the right, and gradually the meteor was being inched outward. At one point, Blair glanced over at Ricks and said, “How’s it going, Ricks?”
“Just dandy,” said Ricks, grunting with effort. “Just fine. Almost as good as you.”
Blair frowned, then turned his attention back to the meteor. Half a dozen times since they’d come out here, he’d been at the point of telling Ricks to go back inside, to have Mendel send out a crewman instead. He wasn’t sure what had stopped him. It wasn’t the way Ricks saw it; he wasn’t looking for a whipping boy, to take the blame for him if he lost the cargo. Glenn Blair didn’t pass the buck, he never had and he never would. He’d been given this job in the first place because he was a man who could handle responsibility, whose pride lay in his ability to complete his own jobs, not in any ability to oversee the work of others.
He had, he knew, lost the dispassionate approach necessary in his work. Ricks and the cargo for QB had both become too important to him, though in far different ways. With Ricks, he seemed somehow to have become ensnarled in some idiotic sort of contest, in which only Ricks knew the rules and the scoring, in which only Ricks could know or care who had won and who had lost. Ricks had kept him off-balance, thinking with his emotions rather than his brains. In so doing, he’d underestimated Ricks’ own concern with the contest. He’d agreed to let Ricks come out here partly out of a desire to throw the guy into a situation where he would lose his own contest under his own rules, arm partly out of a desire to call Ricks’ bluff. It had turned out to be no bluff, and Blair, thinking with his emotions, had been unable to withdraw the agreement.
And the fight with Mendel had only served to harden the cement. Mendel had been instantly and loudly opposed to Ricks’ going outside, and Blair had responded just as quickly and just as loudly. Mendel’s opposition had finally only intensified Blair’s determination to go through with it.
Outside, he had had no choice but to put Ricks to work. There were only the two of them out there, and both were needed. He’d kept for himself the intricate job of guiding the removal of the meteor — the reep pilot was too far back and too involved with the operation of his ship’s controls to be able to do the job by himself — but that had left for Ricks the scarcely-less intricate job of holding onto the replacement panel. Blair had kept an eye on him throughout, ready to step in if it looked as though Ricks would lose control, but Ricks had done surprisingly well, after bobbling the ball a bit to begin with.
Now, as Blair kept up a steady drone of low-voiced directions, Dan gradually eased the meteor out of the jagged hole it had made in the hull. The whole scored segment was now bulged outward slightly, and the sawtooth edges of the hole were scraping out and back, with the motion of the meteor.
Then, all at once, the reep jerked backward, as the meteor rasped loose. The hull vibrated beneath Blair’s feet, and then quieted.
Blair waited, cautiously watching the jagged tear, but after the second’s vibration, there was nothing more. They’d managed it, working and tugging and twisting the meteor in such a way that the remaining air in Section Five was released slowly enough to be of no danger.
Dan’s voice came over the helmet radio: “I’ll take Junior on home.”
“Right.”
The gripper reep shot, turning, up and away from the Station, carrying the meteor far enough away so that it could safely be released without being drawn right back to the Station. Blair watched it go, then stepped cautiously across the scored line and looked down through the hole at the inner hull, five feet away. It was too dark in there to be sure, but he thought he could see the marks of a tiny jagged tear.
Wiley’s voice came through the earphones, saying, “Okay, Glenn, I’m ready to slice ’er up.”
“Come ahead.” He backed out of the scored section again, and watched as the fixer reep came in close, once again clutching the edges of the hole with the side arms while the other two arms carefully sliced through the scored lines, this time cutting all the way through, leaving only thin uncut segments at the corners to keep the whole piece in place.
As the fixer reep backed off, the gripper reep returned, empty-armed now, and slid into place, grabbing the serrated edges of the hole. Blair took the small powered hand-cutter from its loop at the waist of his suit, and carefully sliced through the remaining segments. The gripper reep backed away, holding the cut-off square.
Blair crouched at the edge of the cut, and held tightly to it as he lifted both boots clear of the hull. His body swung slowly around, over the hole, and he pulled himself down into it, until his boots clamped to the inner hull.
The space between the hulls was a maze of braces and supports, five feet wide. One diagonal brace had been crushed by the meteor, and would have to be replaced once both hulls were repaired. For now, Blair was concerned to affix a temporary patch to the outside of the inner hull. The final repair job on that would be done from inside the Station. All he had to do was put on a patch that would allow Section Five to be filled with air again, so the inner repair work could be safely done.
Once his boots were firmly braced against the inner hull, Blair released his hold on the outer hull and moved through the constricted space to the cross-braced wall between Section Five and Six. A tool-and-patch kit was bolted to the wall, beside the round small entranceway to the between-hulls of Section Six. From this kit Blair took a small hammer and a foot-square rubberized metallic patch. He then returned to the spot where the meteor had broken through.
The hole in the inner hull was a ragged oval, less than half an inch in diameter at its widest point. The edges of the tear had been pulled outward by the removal of the meteor, and Blair first hammered these flat, then removed the protective backing of the patch square and pressed the square firmly over the hole. Its inner side was covered with a sealant designed to work in vacuum, binding patch and hull together at the molecular level. It was not a permanent repair job by any means, but it would hold for at least twenty-four hours of normal pressure inside Section Five.
The patch job finished, Blair came back out in much the same manner as he had gone in. Ricks, a little ways to the left, was still maneuvering the replacement panel back and forth, though his arms seemed to be sagging somewhat by now. Blair said, “Okay, Ricks, bring it in.”
“Anything you say, Admiral.” Blair helped him ease the panel down close enough for each of them to grab an edge. They released the cable clips, and Blair one-handed bunched the cable together until he could slip it back onto the catch on his suit. Together, they turned the panel around and held it flat. On Earth, this reinforced thickness of hull would have weighed nearly two hundred pounds. Here, it seemed to weigh less than nothing, since the only force on it was trying to push it up, away from the Station.
They carried the panel over to the hole made for it, and Blair said, “Lower it easy. It should be a snug fit, flush with the rest of the hull. If we set it in flat, we won’t have any trouble.”
“No trouble at all, Commander.”
“Don’t play the smart-aleck!” Surprisingly, Ricks answer was subdued: “All right. What do we do now?”