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Sometimes it seems like I’ll never get a job where I don’t have to fight Connies." Rip was trained in science and Planeteer techniques and he didn’t pretend to know the ins and outs of interplanetary politics. Just the same, he couldn’t help wondering about the strange relationship between the Consolidation of People’s Governments and the Federation of Free Nations.
The Planeteer was right. He should have thought of it himself, but it was good to see increasing proof that his men were smart as well as tough and disciplined. "Bring up all supplies," he told Koa. "Move the boat over here, too. We won’t be able to bury that, but we want it close by." He had an idea for the landing boat. It could maneuver infinitely faster than the big cruiser.
Since he was in command of the detachment, he could in all truth say that this was his own personal planet. It would be a good bit of space humor to spring on the folks back on Terra. "Yep, once I was boss of a whole world. Made myself king. Emperor of all the metal molecules and king of the thorium spurs. And my subjects obeyed my every command." He added, "Thanks to Planeteer discipline.
He picked up the torch and got busy. Rip smiled. The Planeteer was right. He should have thought of it himself, but it was good to see increasing proof that his men were smart as well as tough and disciplined. "Bring up all supplies," he told Koa. "Move the boat over here, too. We won't be able to bury that, but we want it close by." He had an idea for their boat.
Rip shook his head. "Not strong enough. They’re designed to withstand the slow push of rocket fuel, not the fast rap of an explosion. When I say slow, I mean slow-burning when compared with explosive. Who has another idea?" Kemp, the expert torchman, said, "Sir, I can burn you a tube into the asteroid." Rip grabbed the Planeteer so hard they both floated upward. "Kemp, that’s wonderful!
The Planeteers estimated where the enemy would land, and were there waiting with pointed handguns. The Connies had their hands over their heads, holding the propulsion tubes. They took one look at the gleaming Planeteer guns and their hands stayed upright.
This ship is powered by a nuclear reactor in other words, an atomic pile. You've heard of one?" Rip controlled his voice, but his red hair stood on end with anger. O'Brine was being deliberately insulting. This was stuff any Planeteer recruit knew. "I've heard, sir." "Fine. It's more than I had expected. Well, Foster, a nuclear reactor produces heat. Great heat.
I’m one grateful Planeteer, believe me!" "Come on. We’ll hurry right across ship to the opposite valve. Lad, I’ve a son in the Planeteers and he’s just about your own age. He’s on Ganymede. He and the others will be proud of what ye’ve done." MacFife was pulling himself along rapidly by the convenient handholds. Rip followed, his breathing a little rapid in the heavier air of the ship.
We use that heat to turn a chemical called methane into its component parts. Methane is known as marsh gas, Foster. I wouldn't expect a Planeteer to know that. It is composed of carbon and hydrogen. When we pump it into the heat coils of the reactor, it breaks down and creates a gas that burns and drives us through space. But that isn't all it does."
"Good." Rip motioned to Trudeau. "Frenchy, we'll need a strong rod at least eight feet long." The French Planeteer hurried off. Rip consulted his chronometer. Less than ten minutes had passed since the call from Terra base. He went over his plan again. It had to work!
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