A spacesuited man with a folding stretcher came hurrying up.
'Damage Control sent me, Doc,' he said. 'Gave me a message for you.'
He dug the folded slip of paper out of his leg pocket and handed it to Don. It was a computer print-out that listed the location of all the wounded that had been reported so far. Don looked for the nearest one.
'This man will have to go to the sick bay,' he said. 'But you'll need someone else on the other end of that stretcher ...'
'I can help,' the girl said.
Don made a quick decision. She was young and strong and should be able to carry the weight.
'All right,' he said. 'You can stay with the patient in the sick bay.'
'What about me, Doc?' the crewman asked.
'Bring the stretcher back with you. I'll be near compartment 89-HA. Try and pick up someone else for the other end on your way.'
The man at compartment 89-HA was dead. As were the next two people on the list, passengers, an elderly couple. Cold vacuum is a killer that spares very few. But there were survivors, people who had been in the compartments that had been the last to be holed, from which the air had been expelled a little more slowly. Don treated them for shock, burst blood vessels and minor wounds. There were pitifully few of them in comparison to the number of dead. He was bandaging a frostbitten hand when the announcement sounded from the speaker.
'Lieutenant Chase, will you report to the control-room. Officers meeting.'
A very small meeting, Don thought grimly. He looked around at the few patients in the sick bay, all sedated, mostly asleep. A young crewman was rolling up the stretcher for storage and Don called him over.
'Rama, do you think you can keep an eye on things while I go up to control?'
'In the green, Doctor. I'll call if there is any trouble.'
Rama Kusum was an engine-room mate - but his ambition was to be a doctor some day. He saved most of his salary so he could go to medical school at home in India. In his off-duty hours he had been helping Don and learning what he could.
Damage Control had called through earlier that the hull seals were in place, so that spacesuits could now be removed. Don had not had the time to do anything about it. Now he gratefully peeled off the hot suit and quickly washed before putting on a clean shipsuit.
He retraced his earlier route to the control-room. Only now all the doors were open. As he went down the stairs to A deck he found the railing was cold to his touch, and that the metal walls were damp where moisture was condensing out of the air. They would warm up quickly enough and the water would evaporate.
The bodies were gone from the control-room and a heavy metal plate had been welded over the raw hole in the floor where the meteorite had crashed through. Someone had been at work on the ruined radio and its parts were spread across the deck. At first Don thought he was alone, until he heard the cough and saw someone was sitting in the astroga-tor's high-backed chair. It was First Engineer Holtz.
'Come in and close that door,' Holtz said when he looked up and saw Don. And sit down, Lieutenant, we have a lot here to talk about. A very lot.' He waved the handful of papers he held, and looked unhappy.
Don dropped into a chair and waited for the other man to begin. It was a long wait. Holtz brooded over the papers, flipping through them slowly, as though there was an answer hidden there that he had missed. He was not a young man, and he seemed even older after the shocking events of the past few hours. The skin hung in dark bags under his eyes, and sagged loosely under his chin.
'Things look very bad,' he finally said.
'What exactly do you mean?' Don asked, controlling his impatience. Holtz was the senior officer and therefore automatically in command of the ship.
'Just look at these!' He shook the papers angrily. 'Every officer dead except you and me. How could that have happened? And this flying piece of rock has destroyed our radio, the big one we must have. Sparks is making a jury-rig, but the power will be limited. Not that it makes much difference. There are no ships in any orbit that could possibly help us. And almost half our water is gone, thrown out when that hole was made. Terrible!'
Don felt he had to do something to interrupt the tale of woe.
'It's bad, sir, but it's not the end of the ship. The death of the Captain, and the others, is a tragedy, but we are just going to have to learn to live with it. We can get the ship through. We're on course and in orbit, and when we get closer to Mars we'll make contact and navigating officers can come out to meet us. The ship is sealed and sound. We'll make it. You can count upon me for any help I can offer.' He smiled. 'It will work out, Captain.'
'Captain!' Holtz sat up, his eyes widening.
'Of course. You're the senior officer and the rank passes automatically to you
'No it doesn't!' He shook his head fiercely. 'I am the First Engineer. The atomic pile and the engines are my duty. I know nothing about astrogation, nothing. I cannot leave the power-room, I'm sorry. You want someone to call Captain, then call yourself Captain'
'But - I'm just a doctor,' Don protested. 'This is my first space trip. You have to...'
'Don't tell me what I have to do. I tell you. I must be in the power-room, there is no way to get around that. You are in charge, the Captain until other officers come aboard. The ratings know their jobs, they'll help you.' Holtz's anger collapsed suddenly, and when he clasped his big hands together before him Don could see that they were shaking.
'You're a young man,' Holtz explained. 'You'll find a way to do the job. I can't. I'm going to retire, you know about that, this was supposed to be my last trip. I know atomics and I know engines. I know where I belong.' He straightened and looked Don in the eye. 'That is the way it has to be. You're in charge.'
'Don started to protest just as the door opened to the passageway. Computer-man Boyd came in. He saluted quickly in the direction of the Captains chair, then turned to the two officers.
'I have the readings here on the observations,' he said, but Holtz interrupted him.
'You will make your report to Lieutenant Chase. I must return to the power-room. We have reached agreement that he is to be in charge until other officers come aboard. Make your report to him.'
Holtz got up as he finished speaking and stamped out. There was nothing that Don could say. The Chief Engineer could not be forced to take on the Captain's responsibilities. There was no way out of this. The computerman turned to Don and handed him a sheet of paper.
'Here are the course corrections worked out from the hourly observations, Doc. The first ones since the rock hit.'
Don looked blankly at the rows of numbers on the paper. 'What does all this mean? You're going to have to do some translation for me, Boyd.'
'I don't know much about this myself, Doc, but I used to work with the astro-gator. He was talking about making a course correction during the next watch, but now I don't know. That rock hit right on the plane of rotation and it had enough mass and speed to affect us. Didn't slow the rotation enough to feel, we still have about one G on us, but it knocked us a bit off centre and the ship is starting to precess.'
Don sighed and handed the paper back. 'You're going to have to make it a lot simpler than that, Boyd, if you want me to make head or tail of the problem.'
The computerman was not smiling. 'Well - our main axis, the thrust of our atomic jets is aimed ahead on our course. At least it used to be, and it has to be for any course corrections. But now we're beginning to tumble, you know, sort of turn end over end. While the ship is doing that we cant make any course corrections. And, Doc, unless we make those corrections were going to miss Mars and keep right on going. Forever.'
Don nodded. He could understand that. Something had to be done - and fast - and he was the only one who could do it. Holtz wasn't going to help and there was no one else aboard the Johannes Kepler whom he could turn to.