Rob shone the flashlight around the confining interior of the rocket hold. He could see the squatting figure of Mort in the far corner pressed against the huge glittering curve of the jet chamber. Minutes later, Mort had just announced that the job was completed when there was a burst of radiant light that filled the entire hold. An acrid, burning smell swirled into the room above. “Hand me that fire extinguisher!” Rob cried and began lowering himself. Someone thrust the CO₂ extinguisher from its wall rack into his hand, and he disappeared into the smoky hold. Through the gray veil that choked the basement room, Rob could see growing lurid flames. He pointed the extinguisher full into the fire and saw white clouds of carbon dioxide suffocating the blaze. When he could see no more redness, Rob moved forward and tumbled along the floor for Mort. He retched and coughed from the smoke. He’d be needing help soon. His probing hands finally located Mort’s inert body and he began dragging it back toward the opening in the ceiling. A few steps away and under the hole he found Lieutenant Swenson waiting there to help. The navigator took the heavy weight from his arms and handed it up through the circular opening to the others. Then he turned to give help to Rob. When Rob had recovered sufficiently several minutes later, with no more than a tight chest and raw throat, he checked with Harry Goode, who had put Mort to bed as soon as he came out of the hold. “How is he, Harry?” Rob asked. The medic shook his head gravely. “He doesn’t look too good to me, sir,” he replied. “He’s got a lot of burns and he swallowed plenty of smoke. He’ll be a lucky guy if he pulls through.” “He knew this might happen when he took that welding torch down there,” Rob murmured. “But he knew the job had to be done.” He coughed. “Better let me check you over too, lieutenant,” Harry said. “You swallowed some smoke yourself.” “I’ll be all right,” Rob said. “I’ll have the space surgeon look at me on Titan, though.” Rob went back to join the others. When he told them the unfavorable news about Mort, a gloomy silence settled over the compartment. Mort had been well liked, having quickly become a friend to all except Clay Gerard. “I checked the hold when the smoke lifted,” Lieutenant Swenson said, breaking the oppressive stillness. “Mort’s torch must have touched off latent gases in the chamber. There’s some charred machinery down there but no real damage from the explosion. Fox said the ship’s moving all right again.” Clay seemed ashamed to gather here with the others. He was lingering in the corridor looking out the port. Rob had begun to feel sorry for the young fellow whose quarrel with Mort had led to such tragic results. Rob went out to join him. “Nearly time to take to landing couches,” Rob remarked as he saw the curved, mistbound world that was Titan. “Yes, sir,” Clay answered, without spirit. “Did you hear me tell the others about Mort’s condition?” Rob asked.