He knew the theory of repairing the gizmo all right. He had that nicely taped. But there was the little matter of threading a wire through a too-small hole while under zero-g, and working in a spacesuit!
t troubles, Mac--find 'em!" Logan had finally lost the devil-may-care attitude, but that fact was small consolation to MacNamara.
"Keep your mitts off those firing studs, Carl," he growled, unstrapping himself quickly. The malfunction was definitely in the auxiliary motor setup, he thought. A common trouble? It wouldn't pay to find out. If the other motors fired, it would only throw them farther off-course. If worst came to worst, they could roll Valier over and use the six o'clock auxiliary; there was a small arc through which the motors could turn on their mounts. But the trouble was unknown, and they might end up rifling or pinwheeling if they didn't let bad enough alone.
During his mental trouble-shooting, Mac was busily worming his bulk into a balloonish-looking suit identical to those worn by the doughnut's construction crew. Ruiz gave him some aid, helping him thrust his arms past the spring-folded elbow joints. For some reason, the legs gave less trouble. Within a fumbling few m
This takes me back to my early days of reading SF, when most stories I picked up had been written before the Apollo program started, and people were heading off to space in a kind of cross between an airplane and a submarine.
A good read when you're looking for a dose of nostalgia.
Though I wanted to shake the protagonist at the end... if he's paid more attention to the tapes he was complaining about he wouldn't have been in a tight squeeze in the first place!