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his head hit the underside of the bunk above him. Under different circumstances, it would have been a funny incident but one look at Mitch’s face told me this was no moment for hilarity. Angrily he pushed himself down again and grabbed the rail to hold himself in position.
    “Go back!” he shouted. “Go back? This ship’s not turning back. It started out to land on the Moon and it’s going to do it.”
    Jet had been extremely patient. Over the last twenty hours he had given no sign that he resented Mitch’s irritability but now, it seemed, the Australian had gone too far. “You know as well as I do,” shouted Jet, “that to attempt to land without accurate details of our position and velocity would be suicide.”
    “We’re not turning back,” repeated Mitch.
    “But what if our speed is too high and we use up too much fuel landing on the Moon? How do we get off again?”
    “We’ve got to take a chance.”
    “Oh no,” said Jet conclusively. “Not that kind of chance. I’m not taking any unnecessary risks with the lives of this crew. If the radio isn’t working within forty-eight hours, we’re turning back. “
    “We’re not turning back.”
    “Am I the captain of this ship or are you?”
    I thought for a moment that Mitch would strike Jet but while he was still thinking about it Jet cut in: “One more word out of you, Mitch, and I’ll put you under arrest.”
    Mitch threw back his head and laughed. “That’s funny, that is. Where do you think you are--at sea? What are you going to do? Put me in irons?”
    I thought it was time I intervened. I got off my bunk and stood between the two men. “Hey Mitch--Jet--break it up,” I told them. “You’re acting like a couple of school kids.”
    Much to my surprise, Jet turned on me. “You stay out of this, Doc. If I want your advice I’ll ask for it.”
    “But, Jet . . .”
    He didn’t let me finish. “Seems we have a case of mutiny on our hands.”
    “Mutiny? That’s great,” Mitch yelled.
    “What else is it?” demanded Jet. “While I’m captain of this ship you’ll do as I say or take the consequences.”
    That was enough. Mitch didn’t say any more. He just stared sullenly at Jet, breathing heavily. Now Jet saw he had control of the situation, he became calmer. “Right,” he said, “we’ll forget it. But if I decide to go back, we go back. Is that clear?”
    Mitch nodded his head, almost imperceptibly.
    “Now,” went on Jet, “get out the navigation tables. Then go over to the astrodome and start taking bearings. Maybe having something to do will make you feel better.”
    It was not the time to say so but I’d been thinking that all along. Had Jet ordered Mitch to take our bearings in the first place, this somewhat ugly scene might well have been avoided. Mitch, still rather reluctantly, set to work.
    Jet turned to me. “Doc, you give me a hand, will you?”
    “Yes, Jet,” I said; “what at?”
    “At getting a rough idea of our distance from Earth with the help of the radar. It won’t be all that accurate but it’ll be better than nothing.”
    An hour later Jet took our findings across to where Mitch was still figuring. I moved over to Lemmy who, I knew, must be feeling more depressed than any of us, and certainly in need of a little encouragement.
    “How you doing, Lemmy?” I said as I approached him.
    “Oh, hullo, Doc,” he replied. “I’m putting it all together again now, and hoping.”
    “Can I be of any help?”
    “Yes, Doc. You can pass me a few things as I ask for them. But be careful--one touch and they go shooting all over the place. Talk about light and airy like a fairy.” I was pleased that, in spite of everything, Lemmy had not lost his good humour.
    “I’ll be careful,” I told him.
    “Then hand me that for a start,” he said. I passed a screwdriver over to him.
    “Ta,” he said as he reached out for it. “And how’s the mutiny going?”
    “Oh, they seem to have forgotten it now. They’ve