The first officer's bag contained a piece of one of the smaller craters. It had no immediately discernable value. It was Anderson's intention to polish it up and put some kind of a metal plaque on it.
Four more hours went by and there was no sign of Farnsworth or Hamston. Robb began to worry. He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to either of the two men. He waited another half hour, then ordered Kinsley and Anderson to put on their pressure suits and go look for the two missing crew members.
The search was avoided as Farnsworth entered the ship dragging Hamston behind him.
"What happened!" yelled Robb.
Farnsworth began the job of getting out of his pressure suit. "I don't know. Hamston's sick as a dog. I checked every inch of his suit and couldn't find anything out of order."
Robb bent over the prone rocket expert. Hamston looked up at him with half-opened eyes and an insipid grin on his face. He mumbled something about "a fine state of affairs."
They removed Hamston's suit and placed his limp frame on a bunk. Robb examined him for forty minutes.
He reached the curious conclusion that Hamston was as fit as a fiddle.
The rocket expert fell asleep. Robb and the rest of the crew prepared to blast off.