Switchboard, automatic, forty-line intercom, one of."
"Here it is, sir."
Cassidy glanced at it, returned his gaze to the sheet. The others used his
momentary distraction to mop perspiration from their foreheads.
Victory had been gained.
All was well.
For the third time, hah!
Rear Admiral Vane W. Cassidy departed pleased and complimentary. Within
one hour the crew bolted to town. McNaught took turns with Gregory at
enjoying the gay lights. For the next five days all was peace and
pleasure.
On the sixth day, Burman brought in a signal, dumped it upon McNaught's
desk, and waited for the reaction. He had an air of gratification, the
pleasure of one whose virtue is about to be rewarded.
Terran Headquarters to Bustler . Return here immediately for
overhaul and refitting. Improved power plant to be installed. Feldman.
Navy Op. Command. Sirisec.
"Back to Terra," commented McNaught, happily. "And an overhaul will mean
at least one month's leave." He eyed Burman. "Tell all officers on duty to
go to town at once and order the crew aboard. The men will come running
when they know why."
"Yes, sir," said Burman, grinning.
Everyone was still grinning two weeks later when the Siriport had receded
far behind and Sol had grown to a vague speck in the sparkling mist of the
bow starfield. Eleven weeks still to go, but it was worth it. Back to
Terra. Hurrah!
In the captain's cabin, the grins abruptly vanished one evening when
Burman suddenly developed the willies. He marched in, chewed his bottom
lip while waiting for McNaught to finish writing in the log.
Finally, McNaught pushed the book away, glanced up, frowned. "What's the
matter with you? Got a bellyache or something?"
"No, sir. I've been thinking."
"Does it hurt that much?"
"I've been thinking," persisted Burman in funereal tones. "We're going
back for overhaul. You know what that means? We'll walk off the ship and a
horde of experts will walk onto it." He stared tragically at the other.
"Experts, I said."
"Naturally they'll be experts," McNaught agreed. "Equipment cannot be
tested and brought up to scratch by a bunch of dopes."
"It will require more than a mere expert to bring the offog up to
scratch," Burman pointed out. "It'll need a genius.
McNaught rocked back, swapped expressions like changing masks. "Jumping
Judas! I'd forgotten all about that thing. When we get to Terra we won't
blind those boys with science."
"No, sir, we won't," endorsed Burman. He did not add "any more," but his
face shouted aloud, "You got me into this. You get me out of it." He
waited a time while McNaught did some intense thinking, then prompted,
"What do you suggest, sir?"
Slowly the satisfied smile returned to McNaught's features as he answered,
"Break up the contraption and feed it into the disintegrator."
"That doesn't solve the problem," said Burman. "We'll still be short an
offog."
"No, we won't. Because I'm going to signal its loss owing to the hazards
of space-service." He closed one eye in an emphatic wink. "We're in free
flight right now." He reached for a message-pad and scribbled on it while
Burman stood by vastly relieved.
Bustler to Terran Headquarters. Item V1098,
Offog, one, came apart under gravitational stress while passing through
twin-sun field Hector Major-Minor. Material used as fuel. McNaught,
Commander. Bustler .
Burman took it to the radio room and beamed it Earthward. All was peace
and progress for another two days. The next time he went to the captain's
cabin he went running and worried.
"General call, sir," he announced breathlessly and thrust the message into
the other's hands.
Terran Headquarters for relay all sectors. Urgent and Important. All
ships grounded forthwith. Vessels in flight under official orders will
make for nearest spaceport pending further instructions. Welling. Alarm
and Rescue Command. Terra.
"Something's gone bust," commented McNaught, undisturbed.
"Here it is, sir."
Cassidy glanced at it, returned his gaze to the sheet. The others used his
momentary distraction to mop perspiration from their foreheads.
Victory had been gained.
All was well.
For the third time, hah!
Rear Admiral Vane W. Cassidy departed pleased and complimentary. Within
one hour the crew bolted to town. McNaught took turns with Gregory at
enjoying the gay lights. For the next five days all was peace and
pleasure.
On the sixth day, Burman brought in a signal, dumped it upon McNaught's
desk, and waited for the reaction. He had an air of gratification, the
pleasure of one whose virtue is about to be rewarded.
Terran Headquarters to Bustler . Return here immediately for
overhaul and refitting. Improved power plant to be installed. Feldman.
Navy Op. Command. Sirisec.
"Back to Terra," commented McNaught, happily. "And an overhaul will mean
at least one month's leave." He eyed Burman. "Tell all officers on duty to
go to town at once and order the crew aboard. The men will come running
when they know why."
"Yes, sir," said Burman, grinning.
Everyone was still grinning two weeks later when the Siriport had receded
far behind and Sol had grown to a vague speck in the sparkling mist of the
bow starfield. Eleven weeks still to go, but it was worth it. Back to
Terra. Hurrah!
In the captain's cabin, the grins abruptly vanished one evening when
Burman suddenly developed the willies. He marched in, chewed his bottom
lip while waiting for McNaught to finish writing in the log.
Finally, McNaught pushed the book away, glanced up, frowned. "What's the
matter with you? Got a bellyache or something?"
"No, sir. I've been thinking."
"Does it hurt that much?"
"I've been thinking," persisted Burman in funereal tones. "We're going
back for overhaul. You know what that means? We'll walk off the ship and a
horde of experts will walk onto it." He stared tragically at the other.
"Experts, I said."
"Naturally they'll be experts," McNaught agreed. "Equipment cannot be
tested and brought up to scratch by a bunch of dopes."
"It will require more than a mere expert to bring the offog up to
scratch," Burman pointed out. "It'll need a genius.
McNaught rocked back, swapped expressions like changing masks. "Jumping
Judas! I'd forgotten all about that thing. When we get to Terra we won't
blind those boys with science."
"No, sir, we won't," endorsed Burman. He did not add "any more," but his
face shouted aloud, "You got me into this. You get me out of it." He
waited a time while McNaught did some intense thinking, then prompted,
"What do you suggest, sir?"
Slowly the satisfied smile returned to McNaught's features as he answered,
"Break up the contraption and feed it into the disintegrator."
"That doesn't solve the problem," said Burman. "We'll still be short an
offog."
"No, we won't. Because I'm going to signal its loss owing to the hazards
of space-service." He closed one eye in an emphatic wink. "We're in free
flight right now." He reached for a message-pad and scribbled on it while
Burman stood by vastly relieved.
Bustler to Terran Headquarters. Item V1098,
Offog, one, came apart under gravitational stress while passing through
twin-sun field Hector Major-Minor. Material used as fuel. McNaught,
Commander. Bustler .
Burman took it to the radio room and beamed it Earthward. All was peace
and progress for another two days. The next time he went to the captain's
cabin he went running and worried.
"General call, sir," he announced breathlessly and thrust the message into
the other's hands.
Terran Headquarters for relay all sectors. Urgent and Important. All
ships grounded forthwith. Vessels in flight under official orders will
make for nearest spaceport pending further instructions. Welling. Alarm
and Rescue Command. Terra.
"Something's gone bust," commented McNaught, undisturbed.
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