Tom grinned and spoke into his mike again. “Okay, Joss. Stand by for rescue. We’ll come into orbit just ahead of you and take your ship in tow.”
Switching to manual control, Tom guided the Challenger skillfully into position ahead of the space derelict. A few moments later the Challenger’s air lock opened. Tom, Bud, and a pair of crewmen emerged, bearing coils of light, tough nylon cable.
“Secure one end of each cable to our repelatron rails,” Tom ordered over his suit radio. “Hook on the other end any place you can find a pro-THE SECRET FORMULA 119
jection on the rocket. We may have to run the lines all the way aft to his motor compartment.”
As the crewmen performed their task, another space-suited figure appeared.
It was Joss, the rocket pilot, crawling out of his tiny flight compartment.
“Can I give you any help?” he radioed. “I-I’ve never been out in the void before… . Whew!”
Tom looked up sharply and saw the spaceman waver crazily, then clutch at the ship’s air lock.
“Help him, Bud!” Tom cried. “He’s space-happy!”
Bud darted to the pilot’s aid. Evidently Joss had succumbed to the awful giddiness of space and its bleak sense of emptiness. Bud helped him find a handhold on one of the cables, then guided him gently toward the hatch of the Challenger.
In a few minutes Tom and his crewmen finished connecting the towline and returned to their own ship.
“How is he?” asked Tom, re-entering the flight compartment.
“I’m okay now,” Joss spoke up with a wan smile. Bud and Chow had helped him out of his space suit. “Had a slight touch of space sickness, I guess. This is my first trip out.”