Twice he pulled himself back along the lifeline into the ship for capsule meals and stimulants.
Finally he found himself staring at his gloved hands moving industriously within the bowels of one of the satellite packages. He stopped, suddenly aware that it was piercingly cold and totally dark except for the lamp on his helmet.
He pushed away from the unfinished satellite. Two of the packages were assembled now. The big parabolic mirror and two other uncrated units hung nearby, waiting impassively.
Tom groped his way back into the ship. After taking off his helmet and swallowing a couple of energy pills he said to the ship's radio:
"What time is it?" The abrupt sound of his own voice half-startled him.
"Nearly four a.m." It was Jason.
"Earth's blotted out the sun," Tom muttered. "Getting damned cold in here."
"You're in the ship?"
"Yes. It got too cold for the suit."