Nelson S. Bond

“ Tell Garrity—"
The velocity-intensifier, or V-I unit to give it its more common name, was that device invented by Biggs which enables a spaceship to increase its normal cruising speed to an incredible 186,000 mps—the speed of light! I could see the Old Man's idea. Attain that velocity and we might break free of Sol's hold. I said, "Aye, sir!" and was just about to cry the necessary orders to the engine-room when:
"No!" The familiar voice of Lt. Lancelot Biggs rang through the turret. "No, Sparks! Don't do that! It is sure death! As our speed increases, so does our mass! ”

“ He advised Cap Hanson, who has been roving the spaceways, man and boy, for more than forty years, on astrogation practices. He quoted facts, figures and statistics at Dick Todd till our acting First Mate grew as haggard as a parson at a burleyque.
"I can't stand it, Sparks!" Todd moaned to me feebly after a session with Gilchrist. "He's driving me whacky with his confounded 'efficiency'! The hell of it is half the time he's right! There are ways to save time, money and materials while operating the Saturn. We all know that. But you can't run a spaceship like an adding-machine!" ”

“ And I had just blanked the screen when in raced Gilchrist himself, followed by Cap Hanson, Diane, and Dick Todd.
"All right, Sparks!" bellowed the efficiency expert, "What are you up to now? I'll see that you get busted out of the service for this! Rank disobedience, conspiracy to break shipboard morale, plotting with an imprisoned officer, deliberate sabotage—"
Yeah—Biggs was right! Major Horatio Gilchrist was a nice guy, in a repulsive sort of way. I glared at him.
"Just a moment, Major!" I said boldly. "If you mean this heat, you'd better hunt yourself up another victim. ”

“ Gilchrist studied it briefly, lifted his gimlet eyes.
"Not bad, Lieutenant. Not bad at all. A little old-fashioned, perhaps—"
That was more than I could stand. If Biggs wouldn't take his own part, I had to. I burst out, "But, Major, Biggs just graduated from the Academy two years ago! How could his astrogation be 'old-fashioned'? There's not a better plotter in space. Lance has yanked us out of more troubles—"
"Sparks!" That was Biggs, warning me with his voice and with his eyes. "Didn't the Major tell you to go turn off your batteries? You'd better run along." ”

“ I fumed, "because Major Nuisance has put all the electrical equipment under lock-and-key. In another twenty-four hours this freighter is going to be a bake-oven—"
"I know," mourned Biggs. "And Diane—" He stopped suddenly. "Eh? What was that? What did you say, Sparks?"
"Nothing," I told him glumly. "I was just moaning."
"Oven!" cried Biggs. "Bake-oven! Of course! Ovens aren't all electrical. Listen—you know where the main fuel valve lies?" ”

“ Diane stifled an impetuous little cry. Cap Hanson, his beefy face a wreath of anxiety, said, "But, Major—"
"I advise you, Captain," rasped Gilchrist viciously, "against defending Mr. Biggs' piratical actions. One thing I will not tolerate is defiance of my orders.
"Donovan—" He turned to me—"you will remove the fruits of Mr. Biggs' labors from the Saturn's hull. The heat which now inconveniences us will vanish when we are no longer the core of an electro-magnet. ”

“ Which sage—if time-worn—observation was the last comment our insanely sensible First Officer would offer on the case of Major Gilchrist vs. The-Rest-of-Us. And since the efficiency expert withdrew into his shell and stayed there for the rest of the trip, nothing more happened to disturb the peace and tranquillity of ye goode shippe Saturn that voyage.
So Biggs is back! A slightly older, slightly wiser, definitely more conventional Biggs, now that he's a married man with responsibilities. ”

“ What I been hearin' is bad. They's a rumor floatin' around that we're on a dead trajectory for Sol due to Major Gilchrist's course plottin'."
"Oh, that?" I said. "Forget it, skipper. Mr. Biggs knows all about it. He's got ideas."
"Well," said the skipper, relieved, "in that case, I guess everything's O.Q." And he waddled happily away. Which gives you some idea who's the real Master Mind on the Saturn.
That very same night, Diane Biggs stopped me outside the Officers' Mess.
"Sparks, have you seen Lancelot anywhere? I haven't laid eyes on him all day, and I'm worried." ”

“ Two plus two equals Lancelot Biggs. That's why, when Capt. Hanson and Diane wilted into my turret a few minutes later, looking like a brace of parboiled lobsters, I just grinned at them.
Hanson's eyes were haggard with despair. He wailed, "Sparks—this awful heat! You know what's causin' it? It's because we're gettin' too close to the Sun, that's what! You told me Lancelot had everything under control. Where is he?" ”

“ I had just sort of taken it for granted that the fuel I had dumped would have whipped away into space. Silly logic on my part, for I've run the spaceways long enough to realize that nothing ever floats away in the void; anything you chuck from a spacevessel shares your velocity and hangs right along by your side. ”

“ And he gathered all the electrical equipment into his own paws. But, nevertheless, you did turn the Saturn into a stew-kettle. How?"
Biggs grinned amiably.
"Why, you ought to know, Sparks. You helped me."
"A mule," I admitted, "helps a man plow a field, but it don't know how or why. Not that I'm a jackass, but—"
"It was very simple, really. You turned the release valve, allowing the fuel oil to discharge from its tanks onto the outer hull. The hull became coated with a thick layer of oil. Now, think hard! ”

“ Without a pause he continued in a milder tone:
"—major difficulty seems to be that we need brushin' up on the latest space practices. We're a bit rusty, you know. So the Corporation has assigned a very capable officer to—Why, there he is now! ”