He fumbled his hands self-consciously. “Awkward of me,” he said.
“It happens to the best of them,” the mechanic consoled. “Saturn sweeps in clouds of the stuff. Thicker than hell when you reach the Rings. Lots of ships pull in with punctures. Won’t take no time.”
Meek cleared his throat uneasily. “I’m afraid it’s more than a puncture. A pebble got into the instruments. Washed out some of them.”
The mechanic clucked sympathetically. “You’re lucky. Tough job to bring in a ship without all the instruments. Must have a honey of a navigator.”
“I haven’t got a navigator,” Meek said, quietly.
The mechanic stared at him, eyes popping. “You mean you brought it in alone? No one with you?”
Meek gulped and nodded. “Dead reckoning,” he said.
The mechanic glowed with sudden admiration. “I don’t know who you are, mister,” he declared, “but whoever you are, you’re the best damn pilot that ever took to space.”
“Really I’m not,” said Meek. “I haven’t done much piloting, you see. Up until just awhile ago, I never had left Earth. Bookkeeper for Lunar Exports.”
“Bookkeeper!” yelped the mechanic. “How come a bookkeeper can handle a ship like that?”