Both Bert and Bud were hustled into the station infirmary. Here their space suits were stripped off, so that the doctor in charge could treat the scorched victims. Fortunately, Bud was unscathed. Bert Everett had suffered a severe shock from the intense rise in temperature inside his space suit. Only the Tomasite covering kept him from instant death. He was put to bed immediately.
“What happened?” Ted asked, as he and the other crewmen stood by his side, still stunned by their comrade’s accident.
Tom picked up Bert’s discarded space suit and pointed to the jet-pistol attachment in back. “The heat from the reflector fused the jet nozzle so he couldn’t fire it,” Tom explained. “Without his reaction pistol, he had no way of moving!”
92
SPACE SOLARTRON
Bert grinned up at them wanly from his hospital bed. “It was like one of those nightmares
Cheers rose from the watching crewmen as Chow lassoed Bert and pulled him to safety
LARIAT LIFELINE 93
where you find yourself rooted to the spot,” he commented.
“How do you feel?” Tom asked sympathetically.
“A bit dehydrated, but otherwise okay. By the way, Chow”-Bert turned to the elderly Westerner-“thanks for hauling me out. If you hadn’t lassooed me, my goose would have been cooked. I mean really cooked!”
“Aw, shucks, ‘twarn’t nothin’,” Chow muttered modestly.
“Oh yes, it was, old-timer,” said Tom, putting his arm around Chow’s shoulders. “You deserve a medal. And, Bert, if it’s any consolation, you’ve done me quite a service.”
“How’s that, skipper?” asked Bert.
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