With the beam he melted the metal-seal he had poured into the hole. In the cold depths of space, where the temperature was about absolute zero, the metal cooled almost instantly as he turned his torch away. He then added more seal, melted that, then more seal, and so on, a bit at a time, until the hole was completely filled, and the hull surface once again smooth and even. Satisfied at last that the damage to the ship was completely repaired, he hooked his torch to his belt once more, recapped the can of remaining metal-seal and stored it in his belt pouch. He rose and stood again for a few short moments, looking at the glory of the universe as it can only be seen from a spaceship. Then he made his way back to the lock and entered the ship. He touched the stud and the motor slowly closed the great outer door. When the red signal light showed it was airtight, he punched the other button, air filled the entry, and then the inner door opened. He went through into the ship, closed the inner door, and when that was tight, started the motor that pumped the precious air from the lock back into the ship. His brother had not stayed around to help him, so Jon had to strip the plastic from his zipper and around the base of his helmet by himself. It was an awkward job, as was trying to unscrew the lugs at the back of his shoulders, and he growled a bit beneath his breath because Jak had not waited, nor come back to help him. But his irritation quickly passed and he grinned to himself. He knew his brother so well--Jak simply had not thought to stay and help, or he would willingly have done so. Jak's tastes and desires ran more to other things, Jon knew. To medicine, and to all growing things, whether plant, animal or human. Jak had always been far more interested in what made _life_ grow and perform its miracles, than he had in how and why _machines_ operated. And, Jon acknowledged honestly, it was a good thing for them all in this present emergency. If good old Jak wasn't half a doctor already, Pop would really be in a bad way ... and so would all of them, if they lost that steady and competent prop on whom they all leaned so confidently. "I sure wouldn't have known what to do," Jon admitted to himself, as the thought of his father made him hurry the removing of his suit. "I probably would have run for my tool kit, not the first-aid one." He finally got the suit off and hung it back in the closet. He gathered up the scraps of used plastic and stuffed them into the near-by trash disposal chute. Then he ran into the living room and on to the side of his father's bunk, where his mother and brother were standing, watching. "How is he?" "Just the same." "You're sure he ... he isn't...?" "No, he's still alive, and I'm sure he'll pull out in time. Only question is, how long it'll take?"