TIGHT SQUEEZE
BY DEAN C. ING
Illustrated by Freas
[Transcriber note: This etext was produced from Astounding ScienceFiction February 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
He knew the theory of repairing the gizmo all right. He had thatnicely taped. But there was the little matter of threading a wirethrough a too-small hole while under zero-g, and working in aspacesuit!
MacNamara ambled across the loading ramp, savoring the dry, dusty airthat smelled unmistakable of spaceship. He half-consciously separatedthe odors; the sweet, volatile scent of fuel, the sharp aroma oflingering exhaust gases from early morning test-firing, the delicateodor of silicon plastic which was being stowed as payload. He shieldedhis eyes against the sun, watching as men struggled with the lastplastic girders to be strapped down, high above the dazzling ground ofWhite Sands. The slender cargo doors stood open around Valier's girth,awaiting his own personal O.K.
This flight would be the fourth for Major Edward MacNamara; as he nearedthe great, squatting shock absorbers he could feel the tension begin toknot his stomach. He had, of course, been overwhelmed by the opportunityto participate in Operation Doughnut. The fact that he had been one ofthe best mechanical engineers in the Air Force never occurred to him atthe time. He was a pilot, and a good one, but he had languished as C.O.of a maintenance squadron for nearly two years before he was givenanother crack at glory. Now, he wasn't at all sure he was happy with thetransition. They needed master mechanics for Operation Doughnut, but hefelt they should be left on the ground when the towering supply rocketslifted.
He stopped, leaning against scaffolding as he saw a familiar figure turntoward him. He cupped his hands before his face.
"Hey, douse that butt! Can't you ... oh, Mac!" The commanding voicetrailed off in a chuckle. Better to clown his way through theinspection, MacNamara thought, than to let Ruiz notice his nervousness.The co-pilot, Ruiz, walked toward him, still smiling. "One of thesedays, boy, you gonna go too far. Thought you were a real, eighteen caratsaboteur." He clapped MacNamara on the shoulder and gazed aloft. "Goodday for it. No weather, no hangover, no nothing."
"Yeah. You know, Johnny, I've been thinking about a modification for ourbreathing oxy." He sniffed appreciatively.
"What's that?"
"Put a little dust in it, a few smells. That stuff we breathe is justtoo sanitary!"
"I know what you mean. I sure begin to crave this filthy, germ-filledair after a few hours out there." They both smiled at the thought, thenturned to the business at hand.
"By the way, Johnny, what're you doing out so early? Didn't expect tosee you cabbies before ten."
"I donno," the bronzed Ruiz replied. "Went to bed early, woke up at sixand couldn't drop off again. And here I am. Carl ought to be alongaround nine-thirty. Thought I'd help you preflight, if you want me to."
"Sure." He wanted nothing of the sort, but had the tact not to say so.
Edward MacNamara was as familiar with the Valier as he was with thetip of his nose. He had been on the scene when Dan Burke test-hopped thethird stage, had made improvements and re-routing jobs, and hadmemorized every serial number of every bearing that went into Valier.As Flight Engi