"Besides, it would take at least a month to get back to the nearest colonized planet," Jon took up the explanation. "You know we're almost six weeks out of Terra." Mrs. Carver still looked doubtful, but responded, as did Jon, when Jak began issuing instructions to them to help him in setting the broken leg. He had cut away the trousers and removed the boot and sock. Now he asked his mother to grasp his father's shoulders and hold tightly. He then showed Jon how to hold the toes and heel of the injured leg, and pull steadily downward while he manipulated the bone ends into place. When the break had been adjusted, Jak dissolved certain plastics into a heavy, viscous liquid which he sprayed onto the leg. This mixture hardened almost instantly, forming a cast that was far stiffer and yet less weighty than either the ancient plaster casts or cumbersome splints. When it was finished, they all rose, and while their mother hurried ahead to prepare the bunk, the boys stooped and lifted their father's inert body. Staggering a bit under the load, yet handling him tenderly, they carried him to his wall bunk and lowered him onto the sheeted mattress. After their mother had tucked in the top sheet and blankets, the boys buckled the acceleration straps about the bunk, and Jak made an extra binder with a folded blanket about the broken leg. Now, if their father regained consciousness, or moved about restlessly in partial awakening, he could not fall out and perhaps hurt himself more. When all had been done to make the wounded man as comfortable as possible, Mrs. Carver turned to Jon questioningly. "What happened, Son? Do you know?" "Meteoroid broached the hull, then must have gone on and almost hit Pop. If it was a close miss, the force of its passage must have made him duck and fall." "But I don't feel any air escaping." "There isn't now. I patched the hole, inside. Temporary job, though. Pop'll--" He stopped in sudden realization, then straightened resolutely and his voice was calmer, more sure, as he went on. "I mean, _I_'ll have to go outside and make a permanent weld. Might as well do it now." His mother's face showed the pride she felt in this young son who could plan and do the things that had to be done, even while she knew he was upset by his father's accident. "Yes, it should be done at once." But she gripped his arm convulsively. "Be sure your lifeline is fastened securely, Jon." He patted her hand awkwardly. "I will, Mom. I've been outside a lot, you know, and understand just what to do." He broke away and ran toward the airlock. From the closet just inside the inner lockdoor he took his spacesuit, and put it on as quickly as he could. He was still working on the zippered seam down the front, smearing on the quickly-drying plastic that made it doubly airtight, when his brother came in. "Can I help, Chubby?" "Sure, give me a hand with my helmet. Say, Owl, will Pop really be all OK?"