"Why, yes! It's a heating principle invented by Dr. Abbot 'way back
in the Twentieth Century. A large, curved reflector--in this case the
hull of the _Saturn_--concentrates the Sun's rays on a layer of black
oil. A container, highly evacuated, retains all the heat thus formed,
raising the temperature of the 'oven' to almost any desired height."
Biggs grinned. "Our problem was not the heating of the ship. That was a
cinch. Our only hard job was convincing Gilchrist that we must change
our course before we got _too_ hot."
Cap Hanson nodded sagely.
"An' your 'space-oven' worked fine, son," he acknowledged. "But they's
still one thing I don't understand. The pressure. This ship's equipped
with artificial gravs an' all them things. But I distinctly _felt_ the
Sun's gravs grab hold of us. That's when I got the willies."
Biggs said modestly, "You can thank Sparks for that, too. He did it
when he jammed the condensation valves. Made the moisture-content
of the ship's atmosphere rise. The grav plates, being electrical by
nature, short-circuited. Thus we were all subjected to an extreme
'gravitational attraction' which was the direct result of a capacity
overload--but which under the odd circumstances every one naturally
attributed to the Sun's proximity." He smiled faintly. "You might say
it wasn't the heat--it was the humidity!"
* * * * *
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.
And after all the messes his crack-pot ideas have got us into in the
past, I guess we all ought to be glad he _has_ settled down.
But--I don't know. Married or not, Biggs is Biggs. And wherever his
gangling frame intrudes itself, things have a way of happening. For
instance, next month the _Saturn_ is taking off for Uranus on a simple,
ordinary cargo trip. On the face of it, it looks like smooth sailing.
But Biggs is back on the bridge. And--
Well--anybody want to make any bets?