Undecided, he loosened his safety belts and shoved off from the couch, floating quickly across the cabin to the overhead. He hung beneath the questioned rivet, his eyes close to the overhead. Tentatively, he reached out to touch it, surprised when it almost fell out in his hands.
“Captain Merola!” he called.
The steady breathing of the other men filled the cabin, giving it the warm atmosphere of sleepy contentment.
“Captain Merola!” he shouted, his voice louder this time.
“Hm? Huh? What?” Merola stirred on his couch, straining against the straps for an instant and then sinking back against the cushion.
“Captain!” Ted pushed his fist against the overhead, dropped quickly to the captain’s couch. “Captain, wake up!”
Merola turned his head away from Ted. “No,” he mumbled. “Go ’way.”
Ted grabbed his shoulder and began to shake the man. “Come on,” he pleaded, “wake up.”
Merola’s eyes popped open suddenly, alert instantly. He twisted his head to one side, the alert cocker spaniel look on his face again. “What is it, Baker?” he asked quickly.
“A loose rivet, sir. In the overhead.”
“What!”
“Yes, sir. I just happened to see it while...”
“Where?”
Ted pointed. “Up there, sir. I can show you.”
Merola had already unbuckled his belts and he sat upright now. “Dan!” he called. “Roll out, Dan. On the double!”
Forbes was up so quickly it seemed as if he had been awake all the time. He swung out of his couch and pushed himself in the direction of the other two.
“What is it, George?” he whispered.
Ted was suddenly excited. The figures hovering in the darkness, the excited whispers, all contributed to a sense of intrigue that was rapidly growing inside him. For a moment, he felt as if he were one of the crew. He felt as he had at the Academy, on the occasions when the boys had staged midnight raids on the mess hall.
“Baker’s found a loose rivet. Where is it, Baker?”
Ted shoved off for the overhead, mentally counting the rivets as he drifted by. “This one, sir.”
Both Merola and Forbes were instantly beside him.
“It’s loose all right,” Merola said. “Almost falling out. Good work, Baker.”
Forbes grunted.
“Well have to pound it back home and then weld some strips over it to keep it in place,” Merola said.
“You can get back to bed,” Forbes told Ted.
“Can’t I help, sir?”
“Get back to bed,” Forbes insisted.
Ted reluctantly drifted down to his couch, tightening the belts over his body. He saw a flashlight go into play as Merola rummaged in the tool locker for the equipment he needed. The two officers spoke in hushed whispers, reluctant to wake either of the two doctors.
Ted watched Merola as he pulled a heavy hammer from the locker. “This should do it,” Merola whispered.
“You get started up there,” Forbes whispered back. “I’ll get the torch and the strips.”
“Roger.”
Ted watched Forbes float toward the upright locker that encased the larger tools, as Merola floated up to the troublesome rivet.
“This is going to wake up the whole joint,” Merola whispered.
“Can’t be helped,” Forbes said.
Ted saw Merola bring the heavy hammer back over his shoulder and swing it at the rivet. The steel rang against the heavier metal of the overhead, and Dr. Gehardt mumbled something in his sleep.
“This is going to be tough,” Merola said. “Wish we had a riveting machine.”
“Sure, sure.”
He brought the hammer back and took another healthy swing.
“Hasn’t budged an inch,” he said. He brought the hammer back again, swung it viciously at the rivet. Again, again.
Dr. Gehardt shook his head. “Is anything wrong?” he asked sleepily.
“Just a loose rivet,” Merola said, his voice ragged. “Go on back to sleep, Doc.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, everything’s under control.” He swung the hammer, missing the rivet and the overhead, and banging his clenched fist against the metal. “Tarnation!” he shouted. In anger, he pulled the hammer back and took a wild swing at the rivet. The hammer slammed into the overhead with surprising force, and Merola hurtled backward across the cabin.
“Hey!” he shouted.
Ted struggled to sit upright as Merola darted toward the port bulkhead. There was a dull thud, the sound of bone crashing against metal.
“George!” Forbes shouted.
Ted was erect immediately, his fingers fumbling with the remaining strap around his waist. He unbuckled this and rolled out of the couch, giving the cushion a shove that sent him hurtling across the compartment.
“Dr. Phelps!” Forbes shouted. “Dr. Phelps!”
Dr. Gehardt was out of his couch now, his eyes wide. He dropped to the deck, seemed startled as he bounced up again in a prone floating position. “What is it?” he asked.
Forbes snapped on the overhead fluorescents, and the cabin was suddenly trapped in the glare of the brilliant lights.
“What is it?” Dr. Gehardt repeated. “What is...”
He stopped abruptly as he saw Merola’s limp body floating in the air near the port bulkhead.
Ted looked at Merola, and a clammy hand clutched his stomach and began squeezing. A bright patch of red was spreading over the back of the captain’s head, running over his black hair, streaming down his collar,
“Dr. Phelps!” Forbes screamed again.
Chapter 8
Moon Ahead!
Dr. Phelps pulled himself out of his couch and drifted over to the huddled group. His face was pale, his eyes streaked with the bleariness of sleep. His shaggy black brows seemed even more unruly than usual. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper.
“What’s the trouble, Dan?”
Forbes swallowed hard. “George. His head... he...”
Dr. Phelps nodded briefly. Somehow, he was no longer the unkempt scarecrow in baggy coveralls who asked simple questions about rocket behavior. He was now in complete command of the situation. “Fred,” he said to Dr. Gehardt, “get the medical kit. Dan, get us some sandals and weights to hold George down.” He shoved himself closer to Merola, his slim fingers spreading the matted hair around the open wound, his eyes narrowing.
“Nasty,” he said. “How’d this happen?”
“He took a swing at a loose...” Ted started to explain.
“Baker found a loose rivet,” Forbes said, a touch of bitterness in his voice. “George was trying to fix it.”
Dr. Phelps nodded, waiting as Forbes brought him a pair of magnetized sandals. He slipped these on quickly, wrapped his arms around Merola’s waist.
“Give me a push down,” he said to Ted.
Ted braced himself by clinging to one of the couches, then shoved down hard on the doctor’s shoulder. Together with his burden, Dr. Phelps floated to the deck. His magnetized sandals gripped the metal and held him firmly rooted there, his arms still tight around Merola’s waist.
“Let’s hurry,” he called to Dr. Gehardt.
Forbes, sandals on his own feet now, helped Dr. Phelps lower Merola to the deck. He threw a line over Merola’s chest, the magnetic blocks on either end clinging to the deck. He did the same to the captain’s knees, then held his head up while Dr. Phelps examined the wound more closely.
“Here’s the kit, Peter,” Dr. Gehardt said, drifting over from one of the lockers.
“Thank you.” Dr. Phelps took the kit and rested its magnetic bottom on the deck. He lifted the lid a trifle, removing a plastic container of alcohol and slamming the lid tight again. He squirted some alcohol onto his hands and rubbed them briskly. He then reached into the kit for a wad of cotton, saturating it with alcohol. Methodically, deftly, he began to clean the wound.