At last they gave up. Through their transparent helmets, the boys’ eyes met.
“Give it to me straight, pal,” Bud pleaded. “Have we got any chance at all?”
“Sure we have,” Tom said firmly. “The fellows at the space station will know we’re overdue. When we don’t show up, they’re bound to start a search.”
“But will they be able to find us?” Bud asked. “Remember, we went way off course when that space pirate started slinging missiles at us.”
Tom was all too well aware of this fact.
STRANDED IN SPACE 69
“It may take a while, Bud,” he admitted. “There’s a lot of space out here to get lost in. But we can still hope and pray.”
How long could they hold out? The same fearful question throbbed in both boys’ minds. Even with the air-renewal system inside their suits, their supply of oxygen could last only a matter of hours.
Time dragged by. Tom and Bud swapped jokes and chattered away to keep up their spirits. From time to time they sipped at their liquid ration, which was the only way of taking nourishment inside the bulky space suits and helmets.
Hope waned as their air supply grew stale and sluggish. The two boys lapsed into gloomy silence. It was broken as Bud suddenly cried out: “Tom! A rocket!”
A thrill of hope sent Tom’s pulse racing. Was it a rescue ship? With a whoop of joy, Tom recognized the silvery craft.
“It’s a Swift rocket, Bud!”
A second later their suit radios crackled with a call from Ken Horton, a TV
man at the space wheel. “Are you all right, fellows?”
“Alive and kicking, Ken!” Tom radioed back. “Come and get us.”
Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129