or
omit when alone with a few million dollars' worth of Uncle's equipment.
This way he could remind himself of each step to be taken ahead of time,
in his own way.

The co-pilot rushed to comply. Mac, waiting, suddenly remembered how to
get past his obstacle. Internal braces which helped keep the tanks
rigidly in place on Earth were of little use while in "freeloading," or
gravity-less, state. The braces were removable, and Mac had loosened a
single wing-nut to let the brace swing loose when he heard Johnny Ruiz's
answer.

"Ready with your tape, Mac. Where shall I start it?"

"Run it through 'til you get to a blank spot, then another, then stop
it." He was certain he didn't really need the tape, but it was a
maintenance aid and he was determined to use it.

He heard a click, then a hum, as the recorder was jacked into his
headset circuit. Immediately, a familiar voice began a slow dissertation
on power leads from the dome, speeded up in the space of a second or two
to a high-pitched alien gibberish, then to a faint scream. He began
squirming around the turbine tanks, got past the first brace, and turned
to attach it again. Of course it wasn't necessary, but--"PLAY IT SAFE"
was embroidered on his brain by years of maintenance experience; back in
his old maintenance squadron, he'd been called "the old lady" instead of
"the old man," due to his insistence on precautions.

Ruiz slowed the tape suddenly, on cue, and Mac heard himself saying,
"... Brace back in its slot and pin it. Be careful of those linkages on
the turbine pumps. Now crawl around to the next brace and unpin it."
Pause, scraping noises, and a muttered oath. "Pin sticks, but it won't
without a load on it." It didn't.

He worked slower than he had on the ground, fumbling with the heavy
gloves and cursing mightily. His voice rambled on, warning him of
obstacles and reminding him about minor points that could give trouble.
He listened carefully, discarding each suggestion.

Floating near the twelve o'clock auxiliary, Mac peered at each tubing
connection, tugging and twisting. "Wait a minute," he said. His light
flashed out at the motor, riding perched on its swivel, limned against
cold, hard points of light that were the stars. His heart gave a bound.
"I think I've found it!" His other voice droned on morbidly. "Turn that
thing off a minute, Johnny. Listen; there's a lead to the twelve o'clock
fuel valve solenoid that looks like ... yes, I'm sure of it.