Part 2

Marlowe flashed back, "Sorry about Donovan. Nothing trivial, I hope? Yes, have one order, _Saturn_. From S.S.C.B. headquarters. To Inspector-Commander Cooper. 'If Lt. Biggs passes examination, assign him immediately to command of--'"

_Thump-thump-thump!_

* * * * *

Damn! Of all the times to be interrupted. Just at the happy, crucial moment when I was about to learn the ship to which Biggs was going to be assigned! And some idiot had to come banging at my door!

_Thump-thump-thump!_

"Just a minute!" I howled. I switched off the unit and shoved the mattress back into place, rumpled the sheets, tousled my hair and pulled my shirt off. I stumbled to the door, unlocked it and stood back yawning and rubbing my eyes as if I had just hopped out of the arms of Morpheus. "C'mon in!" I said. "Whuzza big idea--Oh! How do you do, sir?"

My visitor was Inspector Cooper. He pushed past me into the room, glared around suspiciously, turned and heaved me an extraordinarily evil glare.

"What were you doing in here, Sparks? Don't lie to me! What were you doing at the exact moment I knocked?"

Behind him, ashen-faced, stood Cap Hanson. _He_ knew about the auxiliary unit. One more bite, and his forefinger nail would be bitten off to the second joint.

"The _exact_ moment?" I stalled.

"That's what I said."

I held my breath, which is one way to create a most maidenly blush. I said, "I--I respectfully decline to answer, sir. My reputation--"

"Your reputation," roared Inspector Cooper, "is not worth a damn anyway! Answer, sir!"

I shrugged. I said, "Well, after all, you can't be court-martialed for dreaming. You see, there was this blond kitten named Dolly. Sweet kid, but--well, reckless. And I was--"

Cooper turned crimson, and he wasn't a bit happy.

"What! You claim you were sleeping? We distinctly heard you talking, Donovan! Who were you talking to?"

I said plaintively, "Well--it was this way. Dolly was putting up an argument--"

That stopped him. He glowered about the cabin once more, helplessly, then he grunted and turned toward the door.

"Very well, Donovan. But if I ever find out you've been engaging in any skull-duggery--Come, Captain Hanson!"

And they left, Hanson tossing me a swift "saved-by-the-bell" glance that meant undying affection and a bonus in next month's salary. So I muttered, "I hope you don't," and when their footsteps faded from earshot, I made a dive for the concealed set.

But I'd missed the important part. Joe Marlowe was just signing off when I got the phones on.

"--Captain Biggs will then lift his command," came the closing sentence, "from Mars Central, in accordance with orders which await him there! That is all, _Saturn_!" And he was gone.

Boy, was I nearly busting! I couldn't wait for the sonic to die away so I could tap Biggs in the turret. "What did he say, Lanse?" I hollered. "Cooper came pussy-footing, and I missed the message. So you're going to get a command, eh? Congratulations? Tell me--"

My nerves were like red-hot worms as I listened for Biggs' answer. And then--

"_Whonk!_" went my set suddenly. "Gwobble-_phweee_!"

Out of order! Again!

* * * * *

Well, that was a stinker. But I had learned _some_ things, anyway. That Biggs was in line for a captaincy, and that his new command was waiting for him at Mars Central. I dug a copy of Lloyd's Spaceways out of my desk-file, and leafed through it. The information was encouraging. Vessels land-docked at the Martian port included the transport, _Antigone_, the lugger, _Tethys VI_, and the brand-new, magnificent, special-extra-deluxe passenger liner, _Orestes_! Any one of these ships would be a feather in the cap of the skipper who took her bridge. Lancelot Biggs was getting off to a Big Start!

So I should have been very happy. For him. But I wasn't. Not altogether. Somehow I couldn't help feeling it wouldn't be the same ship--the _Saturn_, I mean--with Biggs no longer ambling the quarter-deck.

A sentimental sap? Well, maybe I am. But when you have laughed and cried and fought and triumphed and shared sadness and joy with a right, tight, snug little gang of men, all of whom you love like brothers, you hate to think of one of them leaving you.

And that's the way it was aboard the _Saturn_. Sure, we had our little squabbles and fusses. Wilson is a sort of show-off, and Todd sometimes has a tendency to let others do his work. The Old Man's not much of an astrogator any more; after all, he's been pushing ether for more years than I've been alive; he's not as smart and alert as some of the fresh young brevetmen. And Biggs' genius for getting us in tough spots is second only to his ability at getting us out again.

But we're a _team_, see? And now, with Biggs moving up the ladder, some strange new guy would come in.

It was hot!

I'd been so busy with the crying towel, that for a few minutes I didn't realize just how hot it was. But now, glancing at the thermometer on my wall, I was jolted to see the mercury standing at 98 degrees!

Without pausing to recollect that the audio system was out of order, I reached for the wall phone, bawled into it, "Ahoy, the bridge! Something's gone wrong with the--"

That's what I meant to yell, anyway. As a matter of strict truth, I got just as far as, "Ahoy--_blub_!"

For the moment I yanked the earpiece off the audio, a pencil of clear, cold water shot from the instrument like a diminutive geyser! Smack in the tonsils it slapped me--and I turned and hightailed it for the door!

My guard, a gob named Jorgens, let loose a roar as I appeared.

"Oh, no, Sparks! I got orders to keep you in your cabin!" he bellowed.

"That's what you think!" I yelled back. "I'm not going to be roast Donovan for you or anybody! I'm hot!"

"Then maybe this will cool you down." He grabbed the firehose, pointed it at me, turned the wheel. I wailed, and waited for the punching gout of water to sweep me off my feet. But it didn't come! There came a rushing sound, and from the nozzle spilled--

Air!

Jorgens dropped the hose with a howl of surprise. He gave up all idea of stopping me. As a matter of fact, he was three steps ahead of me by the time we hit the end of the corridor, but I beat him up the Jacob's-ladder leading to the bridge by the simple expedient of using his vertebrae as rungs.

Together we charged through the upper passageways, turned onto the ramp that feeds the bridge. By now, everything had gone stark, staring mad. All the time we were on the hoof, I kept hearing music. And every once in awhile a wild burst of static rasped my eardrums. And the heat increased.

It took me some minutes to realize, with a burst of horror, that the music was coming from the radiators, the static from the darkened electric bulbs set in the ceilings, and the heat was pouring in a torrential flood from our air supply--the ventilating system!

We reached the bridge, shouldered the door open. But the situation wasn't any better there. If anything, it was worse. Cap Hanson, perspiration streaming down his red face, staining his jacket, was bending over a calculating machine that was flickering hazily with moving pictures! Across the room, Lieutenant Todd was masterfully struggling to subdue the clamor of a generator that was chattering wildly in the Universal Code. Dots and dashes!

Above the bedlam, I managed to make myself heard.

"What's wrong?" I bawled.

The Old Man acknowledged my presence with one look of torment.

"The ship's gone nuts! The heater plays music and the telephone's a spring; there's static in the lights, and electricity in the gas jets. The ventilators give heat and Slops just called me on his refrigerator to tell me the gas stove is spitting ice cubes!"

Cooper, his face flaming with rage, pulled his paws from his ears long enough to scream, "This is a disgrace to the service! Whoever caused this should be cashiered! And by the Lord Harry--"

Just then the door opened, and into the room, with a big, friendly grin on his pan, gangled our lanky lieutenant, Lancelot Biggs.

"Hello, folks!" he said amiably. "Sort of--sort of noisy around here, isn't it?"

Cooper glared at him wildly.

"Biggs, get out of here! You're supposed to be up in the turret repairing that radio set. Get along--"

Biggs smiled sort of sheepishly; his unbelievable Adam's-apple did a loop-the-loop in his throat. He coughed gently.

"Well--er--you see," he said, "that's what made me come down here. I--I guess I must have got a little bit mixed up in the wiring. I got the circuits all crossed up, and--well, durn it, this is what happened!"

* * * * *

By sheer coincidence, just at that moment the air stopped hissing, the music stopped playing, and the tumult that had been flooding the room died away to a whisper. In a brief, horrible silence I heard Cap Hanson gasp, "Lanse! Lanse!" and heard the incredulous snort of Inspector Cooper.

"What? _You_ caused this, Lieutenant?"

Biggs' pale eyes shifted, and he twisted his lanky frame into a pretzel.

"R-reckon I did, sir. Couldn't seem to get things straightened out in the turret, so I--I went down to the control room, and--and I guess I must have turned the wrong knobs or switches or something."

His excuse dwindled into silence. But Cooper did not. Cooper loosed a blat like a robot wired for newscasting.

"Wrong knobs! Wrong switches! Indeed, sir--" he swung to me, sweating painfully and quivering like an electroscope in a pitchblende mine. "Sparks, can you do anything about this--this disgraceful mess?"

I couldn't meet Biggs' eyes, nor could I meet those of Cap Hanson. I just nodded slowly.

"I think so, sir."

"Then get to work! And as for you, Lieutenant--" His eyes burned Biggs' pale, embarrassed face, "It will not now be necessary to determine whether or not you are versed in Safety Code practices. You have demonstrated very well that you are not yet capable of assuming the rank and duties of a commanding officer. Your butter-fingered handling of a simple, routine test has resulted in the most disgusting contretemps it has ever been my lot to witness!"

Cap Hanson said, "But--but look, Inspector--he's only a boy! Anybody can make a little mistake. Give him a chance to--"

"There is no place for 'boys'," snorted Cooper, "on the bridge of space-going vessels. Lieutenant Biggs has possibilities, yes. But I shall suggest to the S.S.C.B. that he be given another year of intensive training--under an old, accomplished spaceman; yourself, Captain Hanson--that he may learn resourcefulness, coolness, how to act under stress of emergency!

"And now, gentlemen, I shall retire until we reach Mars Central. Sparks, for God's sake quiet this bedlam as soon as possible!"

And he stalked from the bridge with as much dignity as a man can muster with hands clapped over a pair of sweat-dripping ears.

I went below. It was a mess, but not an impossible one. I got it straightened out in fifteen or twenty minutes. And by the time things were back to normal, we were warping into the cradle-lists at Mars Central Spaceport.

* * * * *

Afterward, everybody was sympathetic. Bud Wilson said, "Too bad, Biggs! But you'll get another chance." And he went out. Dick Todd said, "Aw, the hell with it, Lanse. You were just a little excited, that's all--" And he left, too. And that left Biggs and the skipper and me alone in the turret.

Biggs squirmed and said meekly, "I--I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to be such an idiot. But--well, after all, I am young. And I haven't had your experience."

The skipper still looked like a man who'd grabbed a live wire by accident. He shook his head sadly.

"I wouldn't of thunk it of you, Lancelot, son," he grieved. "You was always so quick at graspin' things before this. I was bankin' on you to make it two captains in the same family. But--well, let bygones be bygones. Next year you'll have another test. An' in the meantime, I'll try to teach you more about how to act in emergencies."

Biggs said gratefully, "Thank you, sir. And--and Diane?"

"We won't tell her," said the Old Man promptly. "I alluz say that what women don't know won't hurt 'em. We'll keep this to ourselves. But, mind you!" A flash of the old fire lighted his weathered, space-faded eyes. "But, mind--I want you to study hard durin' this next year! If you want to win your stripes, you got to listen to a wiser head!"

"Yes, sir," said Lancelot Biggs. "I will, sir."

Then the skipper left. A great old guy. No longer listless and lackadaisical, space-weary, but a new man, imbued with a strong, fighting new urge. To help a young man earn his spurs. There was something admirable in his attitude, and something a little pathetic, too.

And after he had left, I turned to Biggs. I said, "Okay, pal--come clean!"

He started.

"I--I beg your pardon, Sparks?"

"Come," I repeated, "clean. You can fool some of the people some of the time, and you can fool some of the people some of the time--but you can't fool some of the people some of the time. And I'm them. Biggs, I know you like I know my own hangnails. I've seen you in a thousand tight spots, and I never once knew you to go into a dither. But you messed this one up so bad that it smelled from here to Pluto. Now I want to know--why?"

Biggs' eyes looked like saucers. His larynx jumped up and down painfully.

"I don't know what you mean, Bert."

"Talk," I said grimly, "or I start rumors. Why?"

And then--Lancelot Biggs grinned!

"So I made it look bad, eh, Bert?"

"Bad? Awful! That heat--great comets, pal, you nearly killed us all! But why? I heard part of that transmission from Luna. I heard enough to know that if you passed your final test you were going to be given a command immediately. A ship of your own. The _Tethys_ or the _Antigone_ or the _Orestes_. All good ships--"

Biggs said quietly, "There was another one, Bert."

"What? No, there wasn't. I looked it up. There were only those three waiting captainless in port."

"But there would have been four," he said, "if I'd passed my exam. Sparks--Cap Hanson's a great guy, isn't he?"

"Sure. A grand old-timer. But--"

And then, suddenly, I got it! Got it, and realized what an all-around humdinging hell of a real man Lancelot Biggs really is! I said:

"You mean--you mean that if you had earned your stripes, the Old Man was going to be set down? And you'd be placed in command of the _Saturn_? Is that it? Why, you--"

And I swallowed hard, and I gave him a shove. And I said, "Aw, Lanse--"

But Lancelot Biggs isn't the kind of guy you can act gooey with. He just grinned again, and he said, "Sparks, old-timer, what do you say you and me have a drink or three, eh?"

So we did. Double. Without soda.