Chapter 19: Spacefall

Rip was never more eloquent. He argued, he begged, and he wheedled.

The Aquila’s chief physician listened with polite interest, but he shook his head. “Lieutenant, you simply are not aware of the close call you’ve had. Another two hours without treatment, and we might not have been able to save you.”

“I appreciate that,” Rip assured him. “But I’m fine now, sir.”

“You are not fine. You are anything but fine. We’ve loaded you with antibiotics and blood cell regenerator, and we’ve given you a total transfusion. You feel fine, but you’re not.”

The doctor looked at Rip’s red hair. “That’s a fine thatch of hair you have. In a week or two it will be gone, and you’ll have no more hair than an egg. A well person doesn’t lose hair. Your head will shine like a space helmet.”

The ship’s radiation safety officer had put both Rip’s and Santos’ dosimeters into his measuring equipment. They had taken over a hundred roentgens of hard radiation above the tolerance limit. This was the result of being caught unshielded when the last nuclear charge went off.

“Sir,” Rip pleaded, “you can load us with suppressives. It’s only a few days more before we reach Terra. You can keep us going until then. We’ll both turn in for full treatment as soon as we get to the space platform. But we have to finish the job; can’t you see that, sir?”

The doctor shook his head. “You’re a fool, even for a Planeteer. Before you get over this, you’ll be sicker than you’ve ever been. You have a month in bed waiting for you. If I let you go back to the asteroid, I’ll only be delaying the time when you start full treatment.”

“But the delay won’t hurt if you inject us with suppressives, will it?” Rip asked quickly. “Don’t they keep the sickness checked?”

“Yes, for a maximum of about ten days. Then they no longer have sufficient effect, and you come down with it.”

“But it won’t take ten days,” Rip pointed out. “It will only take a couple, and it won’t hurt us.”

MacFife had arrived to hear the last exchange. He nodded sympathetically. “Doctor, I can appreciate how the lad feels. He started something, and he wants to finish it. If y’can let him, safely, I think ye should.”

The doctor shrugged. “I can let him. There’s a nine to one chance it will do him no harm. But the one chance is what I don’t like.”

“I’ll know it if the suppressives start to wear off, won’t I?” Rip asked.

“You certainly will. You’ll get weaker rapidly.”

“How rapidly?”

“Perhaps six hours. Perhaps more.”

Rip nodded. “That’s what I thought. Doctor, we’re less than six hours from Terra by ship. If the stuff wears off, we can be in the hospital within a couple of hours. Once we go into a braking ellipse, we can reach a hospital in less than an hour by snapper-boat.”

“Let him go,” MacFife said.

The doctor wasn’t happy about it, but he had run out of arguments. “All right, Commander--if you’ll assume responsibility for getting him off the asteroid and into a Terra or space platform hospital in time.”

“I’ll do that,” MacFife assured him. “Now get your hyposprays and fill him full of that stuff you use. The corporal, too.”

“Sergeant,” Rip corrected. His first action on getting back to the asteroid would be to recommend Santos’ promotion to Terra base. He intended to recommend Kemp for corporal, too. He was sure the Planeteers at Terra would make the promotions.