Astounding Science Fiction, August 1955 (British Edition) — page 76: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

74 ~ ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION That was my cue. I walked out on the platform to the unit and started trac- ing pneumatic lines. The tense; vibrant hiss of compressed gas was all around. As | took out my box wrench to loosen the B-nut on the fitting, the tank relief valve let loose just over my head. I dropped the wrench. It fell through the grating and bounced on the plat- form below. It slipped through the grating there and fell . . . and fell... . and fell down into the flame pit. After seconds, it bounced off the bottom over a hundred feet down. Without the correct wrench, I was forced to use the adjustable crescent wrench—the ‘“‘knuckle-buster’’ so maligned by mechanics. The fitting came loose without trouble, so I moved around to where I could get at the regulator. In order to reach it, I had to clamber off the platform onto the thrust mount and stand on a narrow beam. Since I had to swing the mallet, I was forced to hang on with only one hand. I didn’t look down; it was a Clear fall to the bottom of the pit. I gave the regulator a careful visual check, but I didn’t touch it. I had to free it first. Aiming closely, I swung the mallet back. A ton-and-a-half of pressure on each square-inch of surface there! If I missed, too bad. Five hundred pounds of pressure had been known to tear a man in half. What in blue blazes, 1 thought savagely, made me come out here? This was no place for a man with a wife and kid! This was the sort of stuff a crazy guy with no responsibilities does! Hit it, boy! But don’t miss! I got it squarely on the first swing. It released. The sharp, hissing roar of low-pressure gas coming out the end of the disconnected tube deafened me, but it was music to my ears right then. We canceled the test that day and pumped the propellants back into their storage tanks where they were safe. Crash program or not, we couldn’t have made a run that day. I guess I shook pretty badly for about fifteen minutes, although I hadn’t been shaking when the boys tore me loose from where I had “frozen” on my lofty perch over the flame pit. After three chain cigarettes and two cups of very black coffee, I went down to see Doris and Bobby. They were disappointed, of course, but I didn’t tell them what had gone on. No use worrying them about it. But Bobby was in tears. “Daddy didn’t make smoke. Daddy didn’t make any smoke at all!” I swung him up in my arms. “Sorry, Bozo. I know Daddy didn’t make smoke.” I didn’t add a fervent ‘““Thank God!”’ The smoke might have been me. It was never the same after that, not for an old codger like me. I stuck to my desk and turned the stand over to the younger boys. As far as I’m con- cerned, the test stands are strictly for the youngsters because they’re something more than rocket-test stands. They test men, too. THE END CommiclooolksseoOmn =