Varese is going to get something of a shock when he gets back, Roy," she said.
"Umm," said Inglis, "I'm afraid he is, Lieutenant Bergquist."
"Huh?" said Gerda. M'Banga looked up. Then they caught on.
"Oh, oh," said M'Banga. "Do you think he'll mind our calling him Luigi?"
"I should imagine he'd mind very much," Inglis said.
"I don't know. He's a fine sailor. I've sailed with him a couple of times before. He might take it well."
"Well," Gerda said, going back to her equipment. "You should know."
"The trouble is, my dear Gerda, I don't."
"Well," Inglis said. "Let's not worry about that till we have to. For the moment our main job is to get that radio working and call out for rescue."
This job was the one that consumed them all, and each one was anxious to have a hand in it somewhere, even if it was only in porterage or handing up instruments and tools at the curt commands of Gerda or Linda. They wanted to finish the job before Varese returned; it was the natural pride of effort and achievement that animates a good crew in the absence of their commander. The whaler's radio gear when added to the equipment salvaged from Swallow's control room would build to a subetheric radio set, Gerda told them, and the breaths of relief were sincere and heartfelt. No one had wanted to spend the rest of his life down on this planet, no matter how pleasant and hospitable the Pogosan were.
On the second day of the junction of the two cities, with the prolonged absence of Varese beginning to worry them all, the radio had been reconstructed. Gerda strung the rig and heated it up and called Inglis. Smiling, he sat before the screen.
"Call out, Linda," Gerda ordered.
The girl began to call out, and the set swept space, reaching out to contact any receiving set in range. The waiting tension was painful. Gerda was not one hundred percent sure of the range she was achieving; they might call out for a long time before any space ship picked up their signal and replied. The whaler's atomics would give ample power; time was the element in short supply.
The crew shared watches on the monotonous yet nerve punishing calling out. All that morning and afternoon and through into a golden evening they called out, sending their signals into space, swinging them across the heavens in a steady rotation that scientifically took in every target area where a ship might be. Punching through that odd and mathematically complex section of subspace that gave speeds to radio waves and to spaceships values that in the normal space time continuum were far above that of light, the signals beamed out, ceaselessly, the sweep matching the sweep of the hands on Inglis' watch. He sat up all that night, taking a major portion of duty himself; and still the answering signals did not light the screen.
With Anton on duty, Inglis forced his tired brain to consider the other problem. He sought out the stranger admiral. The two front teeth gleamed in friendly greeting.
"I had expected our guests by now; but they traveled in a number of ships, splitting up to search a vast area of ocean and lake so that I do not fret that they have not returned. They will come, tall-one-without-a-tail, they will come. Compose yourself, remembering that the whole world awaits the coming of the Evil Ones."
"That is true, Admiral," Inglis said. The Word took very little time to be assimilated.
Gerda swayed towards him across a gangplank. She looked tired. The breeze caught her headscarf as she stepped onto the deck. Her restraining hand was too late. The scarf billowed, lifted and blew away from her head, flying to cling about a backstay. She ran for it at once.
Inglis whistled in sheer admiration.
When Gerda joined him, tucking her hair back into place, Inglis said, "I have seldom met a more cruel woman than you, Gerda."
She was flushed and uncomfortable. "Oh? Why?"
But of course, she knew what he was talking about.
"Why did you dye your hair? I've never seen a more glorious blonde—a
"Umm," said Inglis, "I'm afraid he is, Lieutenant Bergquist."
"Huh?" said Gerda. M'Banga looked up. Then they caught on.
"Oh, oh," said M'Banga. "Do you think he'll mind our calling him Luigi?"
"I should imagine he'd mind very much," Inglis said.
"I don't know. He's a fine sailor. I've sailed with him a couple of times before. He might take it well."
"Well," Gerda said, going back to her equipment. "You should know."
"The trouble is, my dear Gerda, I don't."
"Well," Inglis said. "Let's not worry about that till we have to. For the moment our main job is to get that radio working and call out for rescue."
This job was the one that consumed them all, and each one was anxious to have a hand in it somewhere, even if it was only in porterage or handing up instruments and tools at the curt commands of Gerda or Linda. They wanted to finish the job before Varese returned; it was the natural pride of effort and achievement that animates a good crew in the absence of their commander. The whaler's radio gear when added to the equipment salvaged from Swallow's control room would build to a subetheric radio set, Gerda told them, and the breaths of relief were sincere and heartfelt. No one had wanted to spend the rest of his life down on this planet, no matter how pleasant and hospitable the Pogosan were.
On the second day of the junction of the two cities, with the prolonged absence of Varese beginning to worry them all, the radio had been reconstructed. Gerda strung the rig and heated it up and called Inglis. Smiling, he sat before the screen.
"Call out, Linda," Gerda ordered.
The girl began to call out, and the set swept space, reaching out to contact any receiving set in range. The waiting tension was painful. Gerda was not one hundred percent sure of the range she was achieving; they might call out for a long time before any space ship picked up their signal and replied. The whaler's atomics would give ample power; time was the element in short supply.
The crew shared watches on the monotonous yet nerve punishing calling out. All that morning and afternoon and through into a golden evening they called out, sending their signals into space, swinging them across the heavens in a steady rotation that scientifically took in every target area where a ship might be. Punching through that odd and mathematically complex section of subspace that gave speeds to radio waves and to spaceships values that in the normal space time continuum were far above that of light, the signals beamed out, ceaselessly, the sweep matching the sweep of the hands on Inglis' watch. He sat up all that night, taking a major portion of duty himself; and still the answering signals did not light the screen.
With Anton on duty, Inglis forced his tired brain to consider the other problem. He sought out the stranger admiral. The two front teeth gleamed in friendly greeting.
"I had expected our guests by now; but they traveled in a number of ships, splitting up to search a vast area of ocean and lake so that I do not fret that they have not returned. They will come, tall-one-without-a-tail, they will come. Compose yourself, remembering that the whole world awaits the coming of the Evil Ones."
"That is true, Admiral," Inglis said. The Word took very little time to be assimilated.
Gerda swayed towards him across a gangplank. She looked tired. The breeze caught her headscarf as she stepped onto the deck. Her restraining hand was too late. The scarf billowed, lifted and blew away from her head, flying to cling about a backstay. She ran for it at once.
Inglis whistled in sheer admiration.
When Gerda joined him, tucking her hair back into place, Inglis said, "I have seldom met a more cruel woman than you, Gerda."
She was flushed and uncomfortable. "Oh? Why?"
But of course, she knew what he was talking about.
"Why did you dye your hair? I've never seen a more glorious blonde—a
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