"You needn't lie to me, Mr. Biggs! I understand too well. You
deliberately established a hysteresis field around this ship in order
to create a rise in temperature--was that it? You wished to make us
believe the Sun's rays responsible for the heat--isn't that so?"
It's a long worm that has no turning. Biggs finally asserted himself.
He raised his quiet but determined eyes to those of the Corporation
official.
"Yes, sir!" he said. "That is exactly what I did."
"And why, sir?" demanded Gilchrist venomously.
"Because, sir, a close study of the course-chart has convinced me that
we are in grave peril if we continue on our present trajectory."
"What! You question my astrogation, Lieutenant?"
"Excuse me, sir, but--I do!"
Major Gilchrist's gimlet beak quivered like a saucer of gelatin; his
sallow cheeks flooded with color.
"Preposterous, young man! The _Saturn_ will skirt Sol at a distance of
twenty million miles!"
"The correct estimate, sir," disagreed Biggs gently, "is _ten_. I fear
you neglected to take into consideration the space-warp created by
Sol's tremendous mass. I have prepared alternative course instructions,
sir. With your permiss--"
"Silence, Lieutenant!" Gilchrist was wild with fury now. He had no ears
for logic. He wouldn't have listened to a first-run performance of
Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, with sound effects by the original cast.
"I've heard enough! You are guilty of having deliberately conspired
to disturb, alarm and distress your shipmates, of having maliciously
essayed an act of sabotage against your ship, and of flagrantly
disobeying the commands of a senior officer.
"Your rocket, sir! You will go below instantly, and confine yourself to
quarters under arrest!"
Lancelot Biggs said nothing. His larynx leaped, but without a word he
stripped from his breast pocket that prized golden symbol for which
all true spacemen would die, and with steady fingers surrendered it to
Gilchrist. 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. But
just to make sure that no further efforts are made to beguile us into
terror created by non-existent dangers, henceforth _I_ will assume
responsibility for all electrical stores and equipment aboard. That is
all! Get to work!"
Thus ended our gay little tea-party....
* * * * *
And of course it was just as Gilchrist had said. As soon as Biggs'
fantastic maze of coils and wiring was removed from the _Saturn's_
hull, the thermometer crept back to normal. But friend Fahrenheit
wasn't the only low thing on the _Saturn_ that evening. My spirits were
_beaucoup_ slumpy when I slipped around to visit Mr. Biggs after dinner.
He was pathetically glad to see me, but apprehensive on my account.
"You--you won't get in any trouble, Sparks?"
I said, "You're under arrest, but the balloon-headed little slob didn't
say anything about solitary confinement--probably because he didn't
think of it. Lance, what the hell are we going to do? I just ran over
our figures again, and I got gooseflesh looking at them. The _Saturn's_
approaching the critical spot. If we don't do something--and damn
soon--to make Gilchrist change his mind--"
"I've been thinking feverishly, Sparks. You know my motto: 'Get the
theory first!' I thought that by heating the ship I might frighten
Gilchrist into changing course. But he caught on to my little trick."
"And we can't try it again," 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?"
"Why--why, yes. But--"
"Then get down there--quick! And shove the release lever to _Emergency
Discharge_ position!"
"And--and dump all those good tons of crude oil off into space?" I
gasped. "Lance, you've lost your mind!"
"Don't argue with me! Do what I say! Oh, something else--are you
familiar with the refrigerating system?"
"I'd better be. We're going to need it soon--"
"Go to the condensation-valve and close it. Be sure it's tight,
Sparks. Smash it if you have to!"
I stared at him stupidly. It didn't make sense, but then the brilliant
plots of Lancelot Biggs seldom do. I said hopefully, "You--you think
it'll work, Lance?"
"It has to!" he retorted grimly. "Or--but hurry!"
* * * * *
So I did what he told me. I moved the release lever of the fuel oil
emergency discharge to wide open position. I shed a salty tear as I
did it. It almost broke my economical heart to watch those tons upon
tons of thick, black goo flood from their storage tanks out through the
for'rd vent into the empty reaches of space.
Then I found the condensation-valve and jammed it as Biggs had
directed. Then, not knowing what else to do, I sat down and waited.
I didn't have to wait long. Results began resulting immediately, if
not more so. I suddenly discovered that once again--as earlier in the
day--I was sweating. I removed my coat. That didn't help. I took off
my shirt. No use. If I hadn't been dead certain that within a short
time there would be visitors to my turret, I'd have jettisoned my
southernmost garments, too. But having no desire to embarrass Mrs.
Biggs, I stood fast. And stuck fast, too, by the way!
So things started happening. The Chief audioed from the engine-room.
He hollered, "Sparrrks, thot domned heat is on again. Turrn it off; or
bi-gawd, sirrr--"
Well, Biggs hadn't said anything about an allegiance with the crew, but
it looked like a great opportunity to stir up a mild case of mutiny. So
I said placidly, "Sorry, Chief, but I can't do anything about it. Take
a gander through your _perilens_. You see that big red thing blazing
out in front of us? That's what's causing the heat."