Unto My Manifold Dooms

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'Twelve, helmet lock,' Robson's voice rattled from the external speaker of his pressure suit.

'Twelve,' Sonny Greer echoed, glancing at the red ar­rows now point-to-point on the helmet and shoulder plate, then banging the closed latch with his fist. 'Aligned and locked.'

'Thirteen, bleed valve,' Robson read from the checklist mounted on the bulkhead.

'Thirteen, closed,' Sonny tapped the other man's suit with his knuckles.

'Fourteen, patch kit.'

'Fourtee . . .'

'What are you doing, Sonny, just what in the hell do you think you are doing?' Captain Hegg broke in, stomp­ing across the airlock chamber towards them.

'Helping the prof with his checklist—I thought that was obvious, Cap'n.'

'Helping to kill him maybe. You are going to have to take this kind of thing more seriously. You didn't check that bleeder valve.'

'I looked at it, the handle is up and down like it always is. Closed—and I've never seen one of them open yet.'

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