"Sure, cosmic rays," groaned the Old Man. "You know they create mutants
in dormant germinating cells. Now that them seeds been exposed they
ain't worth a tinker's dam to anybody. They won't breed true. Lord
only knows what kind of freaks and fiddle-di-diddles'll come up--if
anything comes up at all." And he shook his head. "Lancelot, son, I'm
sorry. But you know what I'm goin' to have to do. I'm goin' to have to
enter this on the ship's log, and--and I'm afraid them seeds may cost
you your job!"
* * * * *
It was just at that moment the _vocoder_ on my set began chattering.
The interruption suited me fine. I leaped to the controls and hastily
tuned in my caller. But whatever pleasure I had felt dissipated
instantly when I learned who he was and what he wanted. It was Tommy
Jenkins, the bug-pounder at Ganymede IV, space-calling in Compang code.