"Absolute certainty. That's the way the Patrol works. They won't let us down. Look at the search for the Pathfinder -four ships, month after month. If their mishap hadn't killed them, the Patrol would have brought them back alive. We're still alive and we are somewhere near our original destination. They'll find us-the delay simply means they aren't sure we are lost yet; we haven't been out of touch so very long. Anyhow, we knew there wasn't a ship ready at either North Pole or South Pole to attempt an equatorial search, or we wouldn't have gotten the mission in the first place, so it may take a while before they can come for us. But they'll come."
"Then why not wait?" insisted Tex.
"Two reasons. The first is the boss-we've got to get him to a proper hospital before he just fades away and dies."
"And kill him in the take off."
"Maybe. That wouldn't faze him, is my guess. The second reason is-we are the Patrol."
"Huh? Come again."
"It's agreed that the Patrol wouldn't give up looking for us. Okay, if that's the sort of an outfit the Patrol is and we are part of the Patrol, then when they find us, they'll find us doing our level best to pull out unassisted, not sitting on our fat fannies waiting for a lift."
"I get you," said Tex. "I was afraid your busy little brain would figure that out, given time. Very well-mark me down as a reluctant hero. I think I'll turn in; this hero business is going to be sweaty and wearing."
It was indeed sweaty. The Venerians continued to be helpful but the actual work of attempting to outfit a ship for space had to be done entirely by the humans. With the permission of the city mother Oscar, transferred their headquarters to the Astarte. Thurlow was not moved, but arrangements were made for one cadet to be ferried each day back to the city, to report on Thurlow and to bring food back. There were few supplies left in the Astarte which were still edible.
However the pancake mix turned out to be usable. Tex had gadgeted together an ail burner of sorts-they had no electrical power as yet-and had charged the contraption with a fish oil obtained from the natives. Over this he baked his hotcakes. They were noticeably inferior to any that any of the three had ever tasted, for the flour had aged and changed flavor. They showed little tendency to rise.