"Not good," said Fuller glumly. "Only one thing outbalances the rest.
The alphatron went up with the rest of the stuff or Carlson would have
been burned to a crisp by now. That means we'll have to run over to 1
and get a new alphatron."
"Can you repair it?"
"Nope. The field coils are melted right down into a copper ring and the
insulation, which was vaporized, is now deposited all over the walls
of the station in about two hundred atomic thicknesses. The latter
is the worst, I think. That means that every single relay contact
in the place has got to be gone over with trichloroethylene and a
five-hundred-point file."
"O.K., Bob. Send Tiny Hanson over with Carlson and we'll send him back
with the alphatron. Need anything else?"
"Might send something that'll either precipitate or absorb the smell of
insulation. The whole joint stinks."
"Cheer up," said McBride. "Think of how it would stink if we were using
rubber like the old boys did. That, Bob, would really make your eyes
water! No, I haven't anything here that you haven't there. It'll go
away as the atmosphere clarifier takes up the impurities. Better keep
a close watch on the filter screens, though, or you'll get the system
fouled and the atmosphere will not be cleared."
"O.K. We're about to start right now. Tiny will be over in just as long
as it takes to go around the lens."
"Wait a minute! Cut across, Bob. After all, the lens is down, and we
needn't worry about crossing direct."
* * * * *