This called for the second rocket canister, which I hooked on to the girdle and, after thinking it out carefully, got headed in the right direction. I eased away with finger pressure, and let the delayed fuse do the firing. Telstar started her slow spin again.
Getting the girdle off was a lot harder than getting it on, something we hadn't figured on, and in the final stages of the job I found that my steering motors no longer fired.
"Sid!"
"Roger, Mike."
"How much fuel do you read in my steering jets?"
"You've been out of fuel for about five minutes, by my gauge. But don't worry about it," Sid said. "I'll nurse Nelly over there with my steering jets and pick you up."
"O.K.," I said doubtfully. "But watch it. Bump this bird and we'll have it all to do over again."
Sid had more trouble than he had figured. He had steering jets to run him in every direction except fore and aft. For that motion the retro-rockets were considered enough. But one belch out of them was enough to get me screaming into the mike: "Cut those retros!" I yelled, the volume making my earphones crack, as it undoubtedly did his.
"Roger. What's wrong?"
"You'll burn the solar generators right off the bird, you fool! Steering jets, do you hear, steering jets!"