Nelson S. Bond

“ Eyes like blue haze over Venus, only alive with crinkly laughter. Sure, she resembled the skipper! They had the same number of arms and legs; they each had one nose and two eyes and two ears—but there the similarity ended. Their difference was that between a lumbering old space freighter like the Saturn and a modern, streamlined man-o'-war. And I do mean streamlined!
The skipper said sourly, "Well, get the blank look off your pan, Sparks. An' take down a special message from me to Mr. Romeo Biggs, on account of if I try to tell him myself I'll forget my dignity an' tear him into asteroids. ”

“ The Rocketeers win a great ball game, 27-0. You have been listening to this program through the courtesy of Hornswimble's Robot Corporation, makers of the world-famous 'Silent Servants.' Why be lonely? A Robot in the home is a constant companion—"
Chief Garrity squealed his tight-fisted glee. His palm waved simultaneously beneath the noses of three sorrowful Wranglers—including me. "Pay up!" he demanded. "Pay up, ye benighted rascals—!"
And Cap Hanson was one big grin on legs. He said to Biggs triumphantly, "Well, Biggs, I hope you've learned a lesson today! ”

“ With a sigh, Biggs went to work on the radio while the captain glared.
We had barely cleared Lunar Three and I was taking final instructions from Joe Marlowe, the port Sparks, when my plates dulled out and there I was staring at a blank expanse of metal. So I said, "Merdejo!" which is Universal for a naughty word, and started looking for the trouble. I was on my hands and knees under the audio bank when Cap Hanson came into my control turret. ”

“ Today there is a constant companionable rivalry between graduates of the two schools; one subordinate, of course, to the routine of daily work, but that flares into definite feeling when, each Earth autumn, the current football teams of the academies meet in their traditional grid battle. ”

“ It usually ends up with the representatives of the winning team standing treat, and the grads of the losing academy vowing they'll win "Next year!"
Take our ship, for instance. The Saturn. I won my brevet at the Academy; so did Dick Todd, the second-in-command, and Lancelot Biggs graduated just last year. Chief Engineer Garrity, on the other hand, took his sheepskin from the Rocketeers' school, and so did Cap Hanson.
Which made another important reason why I should do something—and do it mighty fast—to get the Saturn's radio clicking again. ”

“ It's—we don't have time to get you his name, folks, but it's number 36. He's going in at quarterback for O'Doule—"
Hanson gibed, "Well, Biggs?"
The announcer continued, "Number 36 in at quarterback, folks. Now he's calling signals. There's the snapback. The new man is going to kick.... No, he's going to pass.... No, he's going to run.... No—he's fumbled!
"There's a pile-up behind the goalposts! They're unscrambling the players. And—it's a touchdown for the Rocketeers, folks! The score is 13-0!" ”

“ He may either explore in this sector himself after he has served his trick, or he may delegate the exploration to professional space-hounds. In either case, a substantial percentage of all ores, precious stones and miscellany found in his allotted sector belong to him. Many a space officer has found himself fabulously rich overnight when his sector turned up with rock diamond detritus or granules of meteoric ore. ”

“ You bet I do. The clumsy galoot who fumbled in the end zone and gave the Rocketeers a touchdown? He should have been drawn and quartered, the dope. But how did you remember him?"
Biggs smiled wanly.
"I just left the Academy last year, Sparks," he said. "And the football team. I was number 36!"
Then he turned to Diane, and she turned to him, and—aw, hell! I know when I'm not wanted!
[1] The strange, energy-devouring Venusian creature that serves as a protective shield for space ships going through a planetary Heaviside layer.—Ed.
[2] "FOB Venus", Fantastic Adventures, Nov., 1939.—Ed. ”

“ But that third bet—" He beamed on Diane. "That one I'll hold you to! And now—"
Biggs moved. To the radio bank. As he moved, he spoke.
"Yes. And now," he said, "I think you should all hear this—"
He twisted the dial. There was a moment of howling; then came a voice, clear, crisp, enthusiastic, "—four minutes of playing time remaining, folks, and the Rocketeers have the ball. But it won't do them any good. Even if they do score the result will be the same. They can't overcome that tremendous Wrangler lead, 33-6—"
Thunder and lightning ”