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Rip was touched by the Italian Planeteer’s faith in his ability to solve the radiation problem. That was why being an officer in the Special Order Squadrons was so challenging. The men knew the kind of training their officers had and they expected them to come up with technical solutions as the situation required. "You’ll have a chance to set the bombs in just a short while," he said crisply.
He fought to keep his feet under him and almost succeeded, but his knees hit the ground and pistol and knife bit into them painfully. Two figures came into his view, locked tightly together, arms flailing. It was Dowst and the second Connie. He got to his feet and was moving to the Planeteer’s aid when Santos’s voice shrilled in his helmet. "Sir! Look left!" Rip whirled.
Rip admired the Planeteer’s nerve. He knew Bradshaw was in pain, because bleeding into high vacuum was always painful. The crack in the English-man’s helmet had let most of the air out, and his own blood pressure had done the rest. He would carry the marks for days. A few more moments and all air and all heat would have been gone, with fatal results.
He was selecting the location for a base when Dowst suddenly called. "Lieutenant! Lieutenant Foster!" There was urgency in the Planeteer’s voice. "What is it, Dowst?" "Sir, take a look, about two degrees south of Rigel!" Rip found the constellation Orion and looked at bright Rigel. For a moment he saw nothing; then, south of the star, he saw a thin, orange line.
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