“You and your crew get a winch going and load the control console aboard. Put it in the flight compartment and hook it up to a power supply.”
Slim nodded and hurried off to organize the operation. Precious minutes went by, with Tom striving to control his impatience as they drilled the holes for the antenna mount. Even Hank Sterling, usually the iciest-nerved man at Enterprises, seemed to be on edge with anxiety.
At last Tom was buckling himself into the pilot’s seat. He waited for radio clearance from George Billing, then sent the Challenger zooming aloft. All could feel the G force building up as he pressed the ship to top speed. A steady stream of computer data from Astro-Dynamics’ tracking crew guided them toward the helpless probe craft.
Finally the silvery form of the Astro-Meteor could be seen, gleaming through the blackness of the space void, dead ahead but somewhat above their own altitude. Tom increased speed slightly to climb closer to its orbit.
“Going to grapple ‘em?” Slim asked Tom.
The pilot shook his head. “Too dangerous up
OUTER-SPACE RESCUE 167
here. The inductive effect could wreck our instrumentation.” He switched on the Private Ear radio and spoke into the mike. “We’re here, Bud. How goes it?”
“Not too good, skipper,” Bud’s voice replied weakly. “I feel … as if … as if I may pass out for good.”
White-faced, Tom ordered Holbrook to switch off all power systems. But the copilot seemed to have panicked. His voice quivered on the verge of hysteria as he replied:
“Are you crazy? We can’t do that! We have to keep our radiation-repulsion network charged or we may be killed!”
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