His ventilator had quieted down once he got into the darkness, but now it
started whining slightly again because he was sweating profusely. Finally
he figured out the thrust needed to stop the spin. Now all he had to do
was compute how much fuel it would take.
He had figures on the amount of thrust given by the kind of rocket fuel
in the tubes. He also knew how much fuel each tube contained. But the
figures were not in his head. They were on reference sheets.
He collected the data on the fly, slowing down now and then to read
something, until a yell from Santos or Koa warned that the sun line was
creeping close. When he had all data noted on the board, he started his
mathematics. He was right in the middle of a laborious equation when he
stumbled over a thorium crystal. He went headlong, shooting like a rocket
three feet above the ground. His board flew away at a tangent. His stylus
sped out of his glove like a miniature projectile, and the slide rule
clanged against his bubble.
It happened so fast that neither Koa nor Santos had time to grab him. The
action had given him extra speed, and he saw with horror that he was
going to crash into Trudeau. He yelled, "Frenchy! Watch out!" Then he put
both hands before him to protect his helmet.
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