Free Death Trap by Sigmund Brouwer Page B

apart and put it back together. “Give me one minute,” I said, reaching for the tool kit. “I’ll tell you if I’m right about something.” I tilted the wheelchair on its side, then undid the bolt that attached the wheel to the axle and took the wheel off.
    The other scientists were in their own discussions and didn’t pay much attention. After all, they were the greatest minds in the solar system. To them I was just a kid. A crippled kid.
    With the wheel in my lap, I used a screwdriver to dig out the bearings that let the wheel turn on the axle. I tried to spin the bearings. They hardly moved. That, at least, explained why it had been so hard to move my wheelchair. And that also explained why the solar panels would not work properly.
    Suddenly I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what the problem was!
    I put the wheelchair together as quickly as I could, had Mom help me back into my wheelchair, and then approached the security guard.

CHAPTER 23
    â€œDirector Steven,” I pleaded, “you have to let them know.”
    I was at the console of our platform buggy, speaking into my headset. Director Steven sat at the console of his platform buggy, also wearing a headset. I’d just finished telling him about what had happened to my wheelchair and the ball bearings. They’d been ground down, probably by the microscopic silicon of Martian sand, making them hard to move. What if the wheels on the solar panels had the same problem?
    He looked across at me. The platform buggies were parked side by side in the shade of a hill. “No,” he said, meeting my eyes directly.
    â€œNo?”
    â€œThey already believe we’re dead. It’ll cause panic if they find out we’re still alive.”
    â€œBut this can save them!” I said.
    â€œYou aren’t sure of that.”
    â€œNo, but—” I was talking in a low voice. The security guard who had set me up at the console was standing at the opposite wall because I’d asked him if I could have a private conversation with Director Steven.
    â€œBut nothing.” Director Steven ran his hands through his hair. “Already their oxygen levels are dangerously low. Even if they fixed the panels now, the generators wouldn’t produce enough oxygen to save them.”
    â€œWe could drive back,” I begged. “We could share our oxygen with them as they wait for the generators to make more oxygen.”
    â€œI will not gamble these 20 lives on another wild guess of yours,” Director Steven said. “If you’re wrong and we go back and share our oxygen, we too will die. It’s that simple.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œBut nothing. We sit here and wait. There will be no communication with the dome. Am I clear?”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œAm I clear?”
    I pulled off my headset and smiled.
    The security guard came back to the console and took the headset from me. “Well?” he asked. “Did you get what you wanted?”
    â€œSure did,” I said. I reached for the switch that would link our platform buggy radio with the main radio back at the dome. I flipped it on as if there was no question about it.
    The security guard frowned. “I didn’t think there was supposed to be any communication with home base,” he said.
    â€œI just talked to Director Steven about it,” I said. Which was true.
    I leaned forward and spoke clearly into the radio microphone. “Platform buggy one to home base. Tell Rawling McTigre to talk to Tyce. Platform buggy one to home base. Tell Rawling McTigre to talk to Tyce. Platform buggy one to home base. Tell Rawling—”
    â€œGrab that kid!” It was Director Steven shouting into the speaker of his platform buggy, his voice echoing in ours. “Shut him up! Now!”
    The security guard pulled me away so quickly that I almost fell out of my wheelchair.
    Director Steven stood at the glass wall of his