Everybody laughed, and in the midst of it, Steve asked: "Aren't you
going to check in?"
"I suppose regulations call for it," said Halligan cheerfully. "But
Cap'n Charlemagne knows the score, and the commish has heard it from
him. Both of them know I'm in safely; also, they'll both feel that an
hour of relaxation will do both me and the service more good than an
hour of recounting the same tale. I'll go in later."
The crowd began to disperse, and Steve followed Halligan towards the
messhall. "You can stand some practise," mentioned Joe. "And you'll get
it. But I'll take you on for a round or two if you like."
"I'd like," nodded Steve. "And thanks."
"No thanks necessary," said Halligan. "Just repayment; that was a fast
job of wiping out that streamer that caught me."
"I didn't think--"
Halligan laughed. "Of course," he said cheerfully, "what I'm really
after is for you to get experience enough to prevent it. Now, you
see, after a year or so of vortex-fighting, you'll develop some sort
of second-sight or other, and the next guy that runs in the way of a
streamer, you'll know what to do about it before the poor bird gets
clipped. And if not, you'll not wait until the guy gets out of the way
before you squelch it; your aim will be good enough to shave the paint
off the hull before the vortex streamer gets it."
"I was afraid to cut too close."
"We'll practise with light beams until you can write your name in three
types of script," predicted Halligan. "Then--hello, Edwards. Joining us
for coffee?"
Roy Edwards looked unhappy as he stopped before them. "Later maybe," he
said. "We've got to attend the inevitable."
"Oh nuts. On an empty meat locker?"
"You might toss a coin; you'll not be needed at the same time."
Steve nodded. "You stoke the boiler," he said to Halligan. To Edwards,
he said, "I don't know what this is all about, but Joe's ready to eat
raw bear. I've eaten."
"That'll be fine," said Edwards cheerfully. "I hate to bust in on this
love-feast, but there's plenty of time later. Grab your chow, Joe, and
come in as soon as you can."
Halligan smiled. "Sure thing. And kid, don't let a lot of pompous
pin-stripe-and-spats scare you. Treat 'em as you'd treat one of the
Guardians; so long."
"What's up?" asked Steve.
"About once a year there's a stink over a blowup," said Edwards. "This
is it."
"What kind of stink?"
"Charges of laxity, charges of wastefulness, and so forth."
"Laxity?" exclaimed Hagen.
"Interstellar often holds the quaint notion that a more alert outfit
would be able to arrive at the scene of the blowup in time to stop it;
after all, a spacecraft is worth a lot of moola, and they hate to lose
it."