"You mustn't have seen Mr. Biggs on this shuttle."
It was the first time I had realized it, but he was right! And that
was funny, because Mr. Biggs and I were old buddies. We were bunkmates
once, even. I said, "Well, lift my gravs! Come to think of it, I
haven't? Why, Skipper? I guess maybe it's on account of he's busy
planning to get married so soon?"
Hanson made sounds like a man being garrotted.
"Marriage! Don't talk to me about marriage! Bert, what does marriage do
to a man?"
"Marriage," I replied promptly, "makes the mare go. Or, no--that's
money, isn't it? I give up, sir. What?"
"It's supposed," boiled Hanson, "to make him settle down. Only it
ain't. Not in Biggs' case. It's having just the opposite effect. Making
him flighty as a coot. Lancelot ain't been worth a tinker's dam on this
trip. He can't do a single thing right! Remember our take-off, Sparks?
From Long Island port? The one where we--"
"--lifted gravs two full minutes before schedule?" I finished. "Don't I
just! I almost did a swan dive through the aft bulkhead. Why? Did he--?"
"Mmm-hmm! And he also plotted the course that took us nine degrees
off trajectory. _And_ he heaved the ship into a Van-Maeden spiral by
signaling for a double-jet port blast in midspace. _And_ he--" Hanson
paused, panting with wrath. "But why go on? The point is, the very
thought of marriage has ruined him. And we can't depend on him to
help us with this assignment. And Uranus is a long way from here. A
_lo-o-oong_ way!"
I winced. I said, "Look, Skipper--must you say it thataway? With
icicles in your voice, I mean?"
* * * * *
But orders is orders. We lifted gravs as commanded at 11.20 Martian
Constant Time--that's 3-X-9 Solar Relative--and pointed our prow toward
the spot in space where, some billion and a half odd miles away, Uranus
was lounging about a wan and distant Sun like a gigantic snowball. That
is, we attempted to point our prow in that direction. Cap Hanson's
astrogation came a cropper on this problem. He called me to the control
turret. He asked, "Sparks, have you seen him?"
"You mean Mr. Biggs? No, sir."
"Well, go find him. In the first place, none of us except him know how
to chart to intersect Uranus' orbit, and in the second place, we don't
know how to operate that crazy velocity intensifier of his'n, and--"
Fretfully. "--and in the third place, I don't like this in the first
place!"
So I made a tour of the ship, and found him where I should have looked
first. In his own cabin, raptly fondling a cabinet photograph of
Diane Hanson--soon-to-be Biggs. He glanced up as I entered, and his
phenomenal Adam's apple, an auricular escalator if I ever saw one,
bobbed in greeting.
"Hello, Sparks," he said dreamily, and held out the picture for my
inspection. "She's lovely, isn't she?"
I said, "Don't look now, Mr. Biggs, but that cheery little noise you've
been ignoring is the audio buzzer beside your elbow. It's for you. The
skipper wants you top-side."
Biggs looked startled.
"Me? But there must be some mistake. I'm off duty until tomorrow
morning."
"Guess again," I told him. "It so happens that you are the only mugg--I
mean officer--around here who knows how to finagle that velocity
intensifier of yours. So you're elected. After all, if we're going to
Uranus--"
That got him. He popped off his hip pockets like a thunderbolt from the
blooie!
"What! Uranus!"
"Okay," I said gloomily. "And you watch yours." I stared at him
curiously, though. "What's the matter; didn't you know?"
"Know! Of course not! B-but--" His fluid larynx did handsprings. "But I
can't go to Uranus! I told her I'd be home in ten days!"
I said, "Then she'd better not hold her breath till you get there. You
led with your chin, Lieutenant, when you told the president of our
belovéd corporation about your new invention. He'd decided to give
it a work-out. And as near as I can figure--" This was what had been
worrying me from the start. "It will take us about ten months to get to
Uranus, and another twelve to get back!"
But, surprisingly, it was my dejection that snapped Biggs out of his.
The impatient-bridegroom-look disappeared from his eyes, and he grinned.
"My goodness, no, Sparks! Don't you understand the operation of my
velocity intensifier?"
"I'm a bug-pounder," I told him. "I understand the space code, and dots
and dashes, and Ampies, and I know four languages. That's par for the
course."
"It's really quite simple. My velocity intensifier is exactly what
the name implies--a device that is attached to the hypatomic motors
for the purpose of "stepping up" our normal velocity. It's based on
the principle of energy-conservation. A series of parallax-condensers
absorb all waste energy, pass it through multiple amplifiers, rotors
and--"
"--and all points west!" I finished. "It's no go, Lieutenant. That's
one of the languages I don't talk. Give it to me in words of one
syllable. How long will it take us to get to Uranus and back?"
"Considering the mean distance of Uranus," answered Biggs quietly, "as
approximately 1,560,000,000 miles, and if we traveled at our hitherto
'normal' rate of speed, 200,000 m.p.h., it should take us 7,800 hours,
or 325 days, to reach there. And slightly longer to return to Earth."
"Ten months!" I wailed. "I knew it!"
"But," continued Biggs proudly, "with this velocity intensifier
attachment, our potential speed is restrained by only one factor. The
limiting velocity of light, or 186,000 miles per second!
"In other words, the _Saturn_ is now capable of a top speed of more
than 650,000,000 miles per hour!"
I gasped. I said, "Huh? You mean," I said, "the trip to Uranus will
take only a little more than two hours?"
Biggs smiled complacently.
"Theoretically, yes; actually it will take somewhat longer. You see, we
must allow time for acceleration, for a condensation-charge to build
up in our super-chargers before setting the V-I unit in operation, and
for deceleration upon reaching our objective. Also, we are forced to
remain below the 'limiting velocity' as a measure of safety. Else we
may suffer another translation into the negative universe, as we once
did before I learned how to control the intensifier.
"But we will make excellent time. Ninety-six hours should see us
landing at New Oslo. And--" His pale eyes lighted. "And, gracious, this
is wonderful! Diane will be surprised. If they're going to let me use
the V-I unit, we'll return to Earth by way of Uranus in less time than
it would ordinarily take to make the Earth-Mars shuttle!"
"But only," I pointed out, "if, when, and as you go make that gadget
gadge. While we're gnawing the avoirdupois Cap Hanson's up there biting
his fingernails to the knuckle. So shall we join the laddies?"
So he patted Diane's picture good-by, and we went.
* * * * *
Like I figured, Hanson was practically meat for the looney-bin by the
time we reached the bridge. He manhandled Biggs avidly and propelled
him to the plot-table. "Where've you been, Biggs?" he demanded. "No,
don't tell me now. Get going on them figgers. They don't make sense to
me, nowise! And when do we turn on that thingamajigger of your'n? Bert,
where'd you find him? Shut up, you blabbermouth! Don't you know better
than to talk when a space officer is cogitating? Can I help, Biggs?"
The one-man wordstorm was deafening. But it didn't seem to phase Biggs.
He plunked himself down at the pilot's desk, scribbled for awhile, and
came up with an orbit chart for Second Mate Dick Todd, seated at the
control-board.
Then he heaved a volley of orders over the audio to Chief Engineer
Garrity, and that was that. He relaxed. The skipper said nervously,
"Is--is that all?"
"That's all, sir," said Biggs.
The Old Man looked dubious.
"I don't hear nothing unusual," he said.
"You will in a minute," said Biggs. "Ah! There it goes now!"
And darned if it didn't! One minute my ears hummed with the familiar
drone of the hypatomics, the next, a weird and piercing whine rose in
high, shrill crescendo, torturing our ear-drums for a brief instant
until it lost itself in an oblivion of super-sonic inaudibility.
That was all. No moment of oppressive weight as if we were lifting
gravs at extra gees, no thunderous bellow of rockets, no anything. The
ship rode easily, freely. I must have looked disappointed. To Biggs I
said, "Too bad, sir."
"Eh, Sparks?"
"Too bad it didn't work," I said.
Biggs chuckled.
"But it did work, Sparks. We're now traveling at a speed in excess of
five hundred million miles per hour!"