"What isn't he up to?" groaned the skipper. "First, he said he could
handle the gravs when we broke out of Venus' clutch. So--"
"Oh!" I said, "_He_ did that, did he?"
"Stop rubbin' your head an' feelin' sorry for yourself," said Hanson.
"You got off lucky. Chief Garrity is nursin' two black eyes. One of the
wipers has a busted arm. Everybody on the ship went floatin' off to the
ceiling, same as you did."
"Anything else?" I asked.
"_Everything_ else!" snorted Hanson. "While we were all scramblin'
around in midair, Biggs made a grab for the hand-controls. He got the
manual deflector by mistake. Todd has just finished shapin' the course
revision. We're point-oh-seven degrees off course now; almost three
hundred thousand miles! We've got to up revs and waste fuel to get
back, or we'll report in to Earth a day late. And you know what _that_
means!"
Sure, I knew what that meant. Cap on the carpet before the Board; the
rest of us sitting around chewing our fingernails, wondering whether
they'd yank the _Saturn_ off the Venus run.
"Well, what are you going to do about him?" I asked.
"What can I do?"
"There's always the airlock," I suggested. "Nobody would ever blame
you."
"This ain't no time to be funny, Sparks!" complained the skipper.
"This is a serious problem. We've got a valuable cargo of _mekel_-root
and _clab_-beans to take into New York. But if that guy messes up our
flight any more--"
He shook his head dolefully. I scratched mine. Then I got a brilliant
idea.
"Cargo!" I said. "There's your answer, Captain!"
"I'm listenin'," said Hanson.
"Put Biggs in charge of the cargo. That way he'll be down in the hold
throughout the trip. He won't be up in the control turret to bother
you. And there's nothing he can do down there that'll hurt anybody."
"But that's the supercargo's job," frowned the skipper. "Biggs knows
that."
"Sure. But Harkness will play along with you. Tell him to let on he's
sick. Give him a vacation for this trip. He deserves it, anyway. Then
it's logical enough to put Biggs on special duty below."
The skipper grinned.
"Sparks, I take it back what I said about radiomen. I think you got
somethin' there!"
"Then you'll do it?"
"Immediately," said Hanson, rising, "if not sooner!"
* * * * *
So that was that. That night my relief came on duty, and I went down to
the mess hall to eat whatever I could stomach of Slops' slumgullion.
First person I met up with was Mr. Lancelot Biggs himself.
"Hello, Sparks," he said.
"Hello, yourself," I answered. "What are you doing at this mess?
Thought you ate at the skipper's hour?"
"I did until now," he grinned. "Harkness was taken ill this afternoon,
and the Skipper put me on emergency duty in his place."
"Is that so?" I said, looking as surprised as possible. "Well, that's
quite a job. Lot of responsibility, you know. That cargo's valuable."