The last cleat is up
by one of the exhaust gratings. Think you can last it?"
"Well, if he can't," snarled Roger, "he's sure to get that medal
anyway!" He inched up a little. "Move over, Corbett, I'm skinnier than
you are, and I can reach that cleat easier than you can."
Roger slipped past Tom and inched his way toward the last cleat. He
pulled his torch up alongside and pulled the trigger. The flame shot out
and began eating the steel. In a moment the last cleat was cut and the
two boys started their long haul down the tube to the outside of the
ship.
As they walked across the steel surface, back to the air lock, Tom stuck
out his hand.
"I'm glad you came back, Roger."
"Save it for the boys that fall for that stuff, Corbett," said Roger
sarcastically. "I came back because I didn't want you and that Venusian
hick to think you're the only ones with guts around here!"
"No one has ever accused you of not having guts, Roger."
"Ah--go blast your jets," snarled Roger.
They went directly to the power deck where Astro was waiting for them,
the Geiger counter in his hand.
"All set to get rid of the rotten apple?" he asked with a smile.
"All set, Astro," said Tom. "What's the count?"
"She seems to have steadied around fourteen hundred ninety--and believe
me, the ten points to the official danger mark of fifteen hundred is so
small that we could find out where the angels live any moment now!"
"Then what're we waiting for," said Tom.
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