"I know it! But the Corporation has countermanded our leaves.
We're to lift gravs at twelve sharp for Europa. Polarium has just
been discovered there, and the whole solar system has gone crazy.
Prospectors from every corner of the universe are blasting for Europa
as fast as their jets will push them. And since the _Saturn_ is the
fastest lugger in the I.P.S. fleet, we've got to get there and stake
claims for the Corporation.
"I--I'm sorry it has to be this way, Diane. I don't want to leave you.
But the clerk said if I refused to take command, they'd appoint someone
else--"
"I know, Daddy," said Diane. She forced a wisp of a smile to her lips.
She understood as well as I did what he was trying to tell us. The
Old Man was--and is--one of the greatest skippers who ever blasted a
rocket. But he's an old man in fact as well as title. Twice before
our employers had threatened to remove his command, ground him, give
his bridge to a younger officer. A man of action, the Skipper dared
not look forward to the day when he had to bid farewell to space. To
refuse this emergency command would be to risk everything. And so:
"I understand, Daddy," said Diane Hanson "But you don't have to leave
me."
"And, Sparks, tell Todd he'll serve as First Mate," the skipper told
me. "Wilson will be Second--_hey?_ What did you say, Diane?"
Diane's voice was gentle, but there was a tightness about her eyes and
lips I recognized. I'd seen it before, on her father's face. I knew
what it meant. Stubbornness mixed with a dash of determination.
"You won't leave me," she said calmly, "because I'm going with you!"
"You're going with--Oh, no! No, you're not! This isn't any shuttle for
a girl. There's danger out there near Jupiter, honey. I won't let you--"
"You can't stop me, Dad. Can't you see I've _got_ to go? Please!
I'll go crazy sitting home here by myself. And besides, it was out
there--near Jupiter--that _he_--"
Well, I saw how she felt. And I didn't much blame her for feeling she
had a right to make at least one farewell trip to the part of space
wherefrom her lover had disappeared. The Old Man growled softly. Then
he wiped his glasses with a sort of savage vehemence. And he said,
"Well, then, get your things packed. And Sparks--call Chief Garrity.
Tell him to have the hypos and all control equipment ready for
immediate flight--"
Thus at twelve midnight sharp, Earth time, which is 7-R-4 Solar
Constant, the _Saturn_ lifted gravs for Europa, the second satellite of
monstrous Jupiter.
* * * * *
There's no use boring you with the routine details. We blasted from a
Long Island cradle, set course and constant for Europa, waited till
we were about six hours away from the Earth's gravitational field,
then cut over to the V-I unit--the "velocity intensifier" invented
by Lancelot Biggs which had made the _Saturn_ the fastest ship in
space, increasing its speed potential from a slovenly 200,000 _mph_ to
something only a trifle less than the limiting velocity of light.
In the old days, before the installation of the V-I unit, a shuttle
to Jupiter meant a journey of about a hundred days, more or less,
depending on the positions of the planets. Now, however, the _Saturn_
had a speed potential of 650,000,000 miles per hour! Which _didn't_
mean that we could actually get to Jupiter in an hour. There were other
factors which had to be allowed for: initial velocity, deceleration
upon approaching our goal, and all that stuff.
To make a short story stubby, though, we could look forward confidently
to setting foot on Europa within two days at the most.
Which gave us a big jump over the rest of those who were high-balling
it for the wealth-laden satellite.
Dick Todd, looking awkward and a trifle embarrassed in his First
Officer's braid, came to my turret at the end of our first day's
flight. Things had happened so suddenly that no one had found time to
tell him the score. He was one huge question mark on toes.
"How come, Sparks?" he demanded. "What's this all about? First we're on
leave of absence, then they dump us in the _Saturn_ and shove us off
for Europa. Why?"
I said, "The answer's as simple as your half-witted brother. What do
you get from the bank, stupid?"
"Loans," said Todd promptly, "at five percent. But what has that got to
do with--"
"The correct answer," I sighed, "is--_shekels_! The sinews of war,
lamebrain. Cash. Gelt. Credits. The root of all evil. Filthy lucre.
There's a polarium-rush at Europa, which if I'm any prophet will make
the old gold-rushes on mama Earth and the radium-rush on Venus in 2078
look like Bargain Day in the Ladies' Basement.
"The Corporation that supplies our bread-and-butter wants in on the
ground floor. So we're elected the official claim-stakers."
"Polarium!" echoed Dick. "That's that new element, isn't it? Number
106? The impossible one?"