[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction, November 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
John McBride hung the phone on the hook and wiped his face. This
face-wiping was not the usual gesture of a man whose face is dirty, or
covered with perspiration. It was the dazed sort of gesture made by a
man who has just been subjected to a surprise, and since the wiping
tended to remove the awed look, replacing it with a slightly dazed
smile, the surprise must not have been too unpleasant.
He shook his head, as though to clear it, and then made his way through
Station 1 of the Plutonian Lens to the landing platform. Just inside
the gigantic lock, a medium-sized space-ship stood, and sitting on the
edge of the space lock, swinging her feet, was Sandra Drake.
"Hello," she said brightly.
"Hi," said John. This was entirely new. Sandra Drake was not usually
given to greeting men as anything but absolute imbeciles. "What brings
you out here? And how did you make it?"
"Oh," said Sandra lightly, "I remembered the charge on Station 1 and
brought along a charge-compensator. We hardly sparked when we lit."
One of the attendants said, in a low aside: "About three hundred
amperes! She'd call a major explosion a snap of the fingers! You could
hide an egg in the crater she made."
But Sandra was still talking. "John," she said in a voice that would
have caused Shylock to give her his last gold piece, "I want help."
"You need help? What can we do for you?"
"It's pretty big," warned Sandra. Her low contralto dared him to ask
what it was--and also dared him to deny it to her.
"Look, Drake, you did us a favor not too long ago. I think we owe you
one."
Sandra smiled uncertainly. "I was afraid that that little stunt was
only repaying you for the first meeting we had."
"Shucks," said McBride. "Anyone can make a mistake. Forget it."
"But being pilot for you on the _Haywire Queen_ did me a lot of good,
too, you know. I got my license back for that one. We both gained."
"I know. I'm glad we did. But what can you possibly want that is so big
that you're afraid to ask?"
"Well, and maybe it isn't too big, either. Steve is a friend of both of
us, isn't he? I'd do anything for Steve--and wouldn't you?"
"Yes. If any favors are owing, I think it is both of us to him."
"That's what I'm getting at. I need help--for Steve."
"You sure go a long way around to get it," grinned McBride. "Why didn't
you tell me that first instead of warning me about a favor?"
"It's pretty big. But look, John, Steve took the _Haywire Queen_ on a
run to Sirius more than six weeks ago. He took along enough stuff to
stay a week; he said he'd be back after one hundred and seventy hours
of stay at, on, or near Sirius. This was just a trial hop to try the
new drive you cooked up and a longer, better equipped expedition would
be made later."
"He did say something about it the last I saw him. He said he wasn't
particularly interested in exploring a new system. He'd leave that for
the explorers. He was interested in the drive and so on, and after he'd
paved the way for getting to the stars and had proven his drive, he'd
turn it over to those interested in colonization. But six weeks ago,
you say? Gosh, that's a long overstay, isn't it?"
"It is. I happen to know he didn't take more supplies than he needed.
So I'm worried about him."
"And where do I come in? You want me to go and help you look for him?"
Sandra smiled wanly. "Hardly. I'm sure Enid would enjoy that, too. No,
John, what I want is for you to hook up the stuff I've got in the _Lady
Luck_ to make me one of those drives you invented so that I can go
myself."
"You're taking a chance, you know."
"That's where the favor part comes in. I want to go and look for Steve
Hammond. I need your drive. And if you don't help me, I'll go out in
space and tinker with the junk until I get it. I was there when you
cooked it up, remember, and I have a good memory for details."
"But it's dangerous."
"Is it? 'Might be dangerous' is what you mean. And I've been taking
harebrained chances for a long time, now. Do I or don't I?"
McBride thought for a long time. "You get it," he said at last. "On one
condition. That you return in not less than one month. If you do not,
I'm going to take it upon myself to follow. So no matter what you find,
get back. Is that a promise?"
"It is."
"O.K., Sandra." McBride went to the wall of the big lock and spoke
over the communicator. "Tommy! Get Al and Westy and tell 'em to bring
their tools to the landing lock. We're going to juggle a few generators
around."