Biggs stared at me anxiously. "What's the matter, Sparks? Where are you
going?"
"I don't know," I told him, "but wherever it is, it's a long way from
here. I've had experience with inventions of yours before.[2] If
you're going to start fiddling around again with things you don't know
anything about--"
[Footnote 2: For stories of Sparks' experiences with Lancelot Biggs'
inventions, see copies of _Fantastic Adventures_ and _Amazing Stories_,
1940-1-2.--ED.]
"But I _do_ know _all_ about it, Sparks," wailed Lancelot. "And I'm
almost positive my plan will work. Now, be a good fellow, will you?
Help me carry one of those lead containers up to that spare chamber on
A Deck, and, let's see--I'll need a tank, a quart of vitamin B extract,
an ultraviolet ray lamp--"
So, you know me. Lollypop Donovan, the eternal sucker. I helped him.
* * * * *
By way of alibi, I might as well confess here and now that I didn't
think anything would come of Biggs' experiment. Oh, I know that in the
past he has pulled so many bunnies out of the _chapeau_ that his hat
resembles a rabbit-warren. But this time I would have bet my somewhat
battered immortal soul to the Black Gentleman with the Long Tail that
Biggs had bitten off more than he could chew. 'Cause according to what
my mama done tole me about the bees and the birds and the flowers, that
biological phenomenon known as "life" requires a certain amount of
time to establish itself.
But small items like impossibilities don't faze Mr. Biggs. He's the
kind of a guy who never says die until he finds himself reporting for
duty to the white-winged watchman at the Pearly Gates.
So for several hours he fiddled and diddled around with the complex
array of gadgets he had accumulated, and finally he turned to me and
said, with a smile of satisfaction, "Well, Sparks, there it is! How
does it look?"
"It looks," I told him frankly, "like a nauseous bathtub on stilts. You
mean you really expect to grow flowers in that overgrown fishbowl?"
"That's the idea."
"Well, how about the ultraviolet ray lamp? What's _that_ for?"
"Why," said Biggs, "that's an important part of my new invention. It
isn't ... er ... exactly an ultraviolet ray lamp any more, Sparks. I
made a few minor adjustments on it. It now emits rays in the Hertzian
range. That is, between one M and one-tenth CM in length, electrical
waves for which--up till the present time--no use has ever been found.
But if my theory is correct, they should irradiate the growing seeds
pods with--"
"Never mind," I interrupted him hastily. "You're just wasting your
breath and my time. Let's turn on the juice and see what happens."
"All right," said Biggs. "Let's have that container. What have we
here anyhow? Ah! _Rosa rugosa!_ They should be lovely. Diane will be
delighted."
"Oh, hell!" I said. "Did we get the wrong container? Wait a minute.
I'll go get one with flower seeds in it."
"No, Sparks. _Rosa rugosa_ is a type of beautiful red rose. These
should be exquisite. Here, I've got the seals open. Help me scatter
some of these seeds carefully on the surface of the water ...
there ... that's it! Now, the radiation--"
* * * * *
He clicked a switch and the lamp turned on. That is, I suppose it
turned on. I wouldn't know about that exactly, for it emitted no
light. But it must have been emitting _something_, for it did funny
things to the light already existing in the room. It turned things all
topsy-turvy.
You know how it is when you stand in front of a photographer's shop
where they have those violet incandescents? Your flesh sort of turns
bilious green and your lips look like something the cat dragged out
of the well? Well, that's what happened now. I looked at Biggs and
grinned, and he looked at me and split lavender lips in a blue-fanged,
terrifying smile.
"Well!" he said. "There we are. Seventy-two hours from now, when we
reach Iapetus, Diane should have a magnificent bouquet of dewy-fresh
Earth roses, the first ever to be worn on that outpost."
"And seventy-two _seconds_ from now," I told him, "I'm going to have
the screaming meemies from looking at that grass-colored pan of yours.
Let's get out of here."
* * * * *
Well, for the next couple of days nothing much happened. The _Saturn_
had been cut over to the V-I unit,[3] of course, and we were jogging
along at a very tidy and comfortable rate of 185,000 m.p.h. toward our
destination. Having helped Lancelot Biggs to the best of my abilities,
I now co-operated in his further efforts (to the betterment of my
sanity) by remaining away from his experimental chamber. He, too,
remained pretty much in seclusion. The only time I saw him was on the
second day after noon mess when he came wandering up to my turret
mumbling to himself like a cow in a clover path.
[Footnote 3: The V-I (velocity-intensifier) unit is an invention of
Lt. Lancelot Biggs which permits space-craft to attain velocities
approaching the "limiting velocity" of light, i.e., approximately
186,000 miles per second.--ED.]
"Sparks," he demanded, "what rhymes with void?"
"Boid," I told him promptly. "Which I ain't ... and 'annoyed' which I
am. Can't a hard-working radioman even catch up his slumbers around
here without you getting in his hair? Why? When did you develop the
poet complex?"
He flushed and laughed awkwardly, "Well, it--er--doesn't really
matter," he temporized. "I was just trying to--Well, I thought it would
be amusing to write a little poem to say to Diane when I gave her the
roses. You know, a sort of a--love song."
"Some people," I snorted, "are born for trouble, and some people have
trouble thrust upon them ... but you're the first guy I ever knew who
went out of his way looking for it. Now it's love songs to go with the
roses. By the way, how are the roses coming along?"
"Why, all right, I suppose," said Biggs. "I haven't been in to see them
since yesterday. You see, I have the thermoes turned up to max in that
room and it's pretty hot--"
"Not half so hot," I told him, "as the Old Man's going to be when he
finds out you're the one who swiped that container from the cargo bin."