He made a lousy hero. The only music in his head was the ringing in his ears and the drumming in his heart!
Yet the trip up was by far the easier part of his job. He still had to bring his cargo down in its unpowered glide through a storm that would be closer to its worst, or the whole trip would be useless for him, no matter how many lives it saved.
He was feeling almost himself again, though, when he finally matched orbits with the station. As far as he could determine, his wings and stabilizers were still sound, and air pressure in the cargo space indicated nothing had sprung there. He even had a few drops of fuel left after making his final corrections. At least he'd done an adequate job of piloting on the ascension.
With luck, he'd get the Mollyann down again intact. But he'd need that luck!
CHAPTER IV
The big multi-tube affair into which the station had grown looked normal enough in the sunlight. But the men who came out in the little space ferry showed the hell of slow poisoning they'd been through, even over their jubilation at the sight of the filters. When they made seal-to-seal contact and he released the lock, the smell of their air was positively foul. They must have been reporting their plight as a lot better than it really was.
Commander Phillips came through first, almost crying as he grabbed Murdock's hand. He seemed at a complete loss for words.
"Hello, Red," Murdock greeted him. Phillips had been part of his own class, fifteen years before. "How are the kids?"
"Shapiro says they'll be okay, once we get some filters that aren't plated with contaminants. Tommy, I'd invite you over for champagne right now, but our air would ruin it. Just figure that anything I've got...."