Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler returned with the calking compound. It
occupied the rear section of the land car. Lt. Chandler sat atop it. It
was a fifty-five gallon drum.
The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. "What is _that_?" asked Major
Winship, squinting out into the glaring sunlight.
"That," said Capt. Lawler, "is the calking compound."
"You're kidding," said Capt. Wilkins.
"I am not kidding."
Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler came inside. Capt. Wilkins mounted a bunk.
"Why didn't you just borrow a cupful?" Major Winship said sarcastically.
"It's this way," Lt. Chandler said. "They didn't have anything but
55-gallon drums of it."
"Oh, my," said Capt. Wilkins. "I suppose it's a steel drum. Those
things must weigh...."
"Actually, I think you guys have got the general wrong," Capt. Lawler
said. "He was out, himself, to greet us. I think he was really quite
upset by the quake. Probably because his people had misfigured so bad."
"He's too damned suspicious," Major Winship said. "You know and I know
why they set that blast off. I tried to tell him. Hell. He looks at me
like an emasculated owl and wants to know our ulterior motive in trying
to prevent a purely scientific experiment, the results of which will be
published in the technical press for the good of everybody. I'll bet!"
"About this drum," Capt. Wilkins said.
"Well, like I said, it's this way," Lt. Chandler resumed. "I told him
we needed about a pint. Maybe a quart. But this stuff you have to mix
up. He only had these drums. There's two parts to it, and you have to
combine them in just the right proportion. He told me to take a little
scale--"
"A little scale?" asked Capt. Wilkins, rolling his eyes at the dome.
"That's what I told him. We don't have any little scale."
"Yeah," said Captain Lawler, "and he looked at us with that mute,
surprised look, like everybody, everywhere has dozens of little
scales."
"Well, anyway," Lt. Chandler continued, "he told us just to mix up the
whole fifty-five gallon drum. There's a little bucket of stuff that
goes in, and it's measured just right. We can throw away what we don't
need."
"Somehow, that sounds like him," Major Winship said.
"He had five or six of them."
"Jesus!" said Capt. Wilkins. "That must be _three thousand pounds_ of
calking compound. Those people are insane."
"The question is," Capt. Lawler said, "'How are we going to mix it?'
It's supposed to be mixed thoroughly."
They thought over the problem for a while.
"That will be a man-sized job," Major Winship said.
"Let's see, Charlie. Maybe not too bad," said Capt. Wilkins. "If I took
the compressor motor, we could make up a shaft and ... let's see ... if
we could...."
* * * * *
It took the better part of an hour to rig up the electric mixer.
Capt. Wilkins was profusely congratulated.
"Now," Major Winship said, "we can either bring the drum inside or take
the mixer out there."
"We're going to have to bring the drum in," Capt. Wilkins said.
"Well," said Capt. Lawler, "that will make it nice and cozy."
It took the four of them to roll the drum inside, rocking it back and
forth through the airlock. At that time, it was apparent the table was
interposing itself.
Lt. Chandler tried to dismantle the table. "Damn these suits," he said.
"You've got it stuck between the bunk post."
"I _know_ that."
"I don't think this is the way to do it," Major Winship said. "Let's
back the drum out."
Reluctantly, they backed the drum out and deposited it. With the aid of
Capt. Lawler, Lt. Chandler got the table unstuck. They passed it over
to Major Winship, who handed it out to Capt. Wilkins. Captain Wilkins
carried it around the drum of calking compound and set it down. It
rested uneasily on the uneven surface.
"Now, let's go," said Major Winship.
Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum between
the main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring.
"It's not the weight, it's the mass," said Capt. Wilkins brightly.
"The hell it isn't the weight," said Lt. Chandler. "That's heavy."
"With my reefer out," said Major Winship, "I'm the one it's rough on."
He shook perspiration out of his eyes. "They should figure a way to get
a mop in here, or a towel, or a sponge, or something. I'll bet you've
forgotten how much sweat stings in the eyes."
"It's the salt."
"Speaking of salt. I wish I had some salt tablets," Major Winship said.
"I've never sweat so much since basic."
"Want to bet Finogenov hasn't got a bushel of them?"
"No!" Major Winship snapped.
* * * * *
With the drum of calking compound inside, both Capt. Lawler and Lt.
Chandler retreated to the bunks. Capt. Wilkins maneuvered the mixing
attachment. "I feel crowded," he said.
"Cozy's the word."
"Watch it! Watch it! You almost hit me in the face plate with that!"
"Sorry."
At length the mixer was in operation in the drum.
"Works perfectly," said Capt. Wilkins proudly.
"Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English."
"You're supposed to dump the bucket of stuff in. Then clean the area
thoroughly around the leak."
"With what?" asked Major Winship.
"Sandpaper, I guess."
"With sandpaper?" Major Winship said, emptying the bucket of fluid into
the drum. "We don't have any sandpaper."
"It's been a long day," Capt. Wilkins said.
"Mix it thoroughly," Lt. Chandler mused. "I guess that means let it mix
for about ten minutes or so. Then you apply it. It sets for service in
just a little bit, Finogenov said. An hour or so, maybe."
"I hope this doesn't set on exposure to air."
"No," Capt. Lawler said. "It sets by some kind of chemical action.
General Finogenov wasn't sure of the English name for it. Some kind of
plastic."
"Let's come back to how we're going to clean around the leak," Major
Winship said.
"Say, I--" interrupted Capt. Wilkins. There was a trace of concern
in his voice. "This is a hell of a time for this to occur to
me. I just wasn't thinking, before. _You don't suppose it's a
room-temperature-curing epoxy resin, do you?_"
"Larry," said Major Winship, "I wouldn't know a room-temperature-curing
epoxy resin from--"
"Hey!" exclaimed Capt. Wilkins. "The mixer's stopped." He bent forward
and touched the drum. He jerked back. "Ye Gods! that's hot! And it's
harder than a rock! It _is_ an epoxy! Let's get out of here."
"Huh?"
"Out! Out!"
Major Winship, Lt. Chandler, and Capt. Lawler, recognizing the sense of
urgency, simultaneously glanced at the drum. It was glowing cherry red.
"Let's go!" Capt. Wilkins said.
He and the Major reached the airlock at the same time and became
temporarily engaged with each other. Movement was somewhat ungainly
in the space suits under the best of conditions, and now, with the
necessity for speed, was doubly so. The other two crashed into them
from behind, and they spewed forth from the dome in a tangle of arms
and legs.
At the table, they separated, two going to the left, two to the right.
The table remained untouched.
When they halted, Capt. Wilkins said, "Get to one side, it may go off
like shrapnel." They obeyed.
"What--what--what?" Capt. Lawler stuttered.
They were still separated, two on one side of the airlock, two on the
other.
"I'm going to try to look," Capt. Wilkins said. "Let me go." He
lumbered directly away from the dome for a distance of about fifteen
feet, then turned and positioned himself, some five feet behind the
table, on a line of sight with the airlock.
"I can see it," he said. "It's getting redder. It's ... it's ...
melting, yes. Melting down at the bottom a little. Now it's falling
over to one side and laying on the air tank. The air tank is getting
red, too. I'm afraid ... it's weakening it.... Redder. Oh, oh."
"What?" said Capt. Lawler.
"Watch out! There. _There!_" Capt. Wilkins leaped from his position.
He was still floating toward the ground when there was an incredibly
bright flare from inside the dome, and a great, silent tongue of flame
lashed through the airlock and rolled across the lunar surface. The
table was sent tumbling. The flame was gone almost instantly.
"There went the air," Capt. Lawler commented.
"We got T-Trouble," said Lt. Chandler.