* * * * *
Before Cap Hanson had stopped gasping--I decided afterward it was a
gasp, though at first I thought it was a symptom of apoplexy--Biggs
stepped to the ship's intercommunicating system and buzzed the bridge.
To Todd he snapped, "Mr. Todd, plot new co-ordinates to intersect with
the vacuole as soon as possible!"
Then Todd gasped and I gasped and Diane gasped and the Skipper was
still gasping, and Lancelot Biggs turned to face us, faintly pale,
breathing a little hard, but with a look of curious determination on
his face.
"I know," he said, "you all think I'm crazy. Well, maybe I am. But I'm
_not_ going to surrender my command, and I'm going to see this race
through in the way that seems most fitting to me--"
Then he gulped, turned, and gangled from the room. Diane started
crying softly. I said, "Now, now!" wondering if the words sounded as
silly to her as they did to me. And Hanson came out of his stupor with
a blast that lifted the roof an inch and a half.
"What the blue space does he think he's going to do? 'Intersect the
vacuole'! The crazy idiot! Does he mean to throw away all the advantage
we've gained?"
"Don't ask me," I said dourly. "I'm not an esper."[2] My instrument was
clacking again; it was the operator of the _Slipstream_ calling.
[Footnote 2: Esper--a fortune teller who makes his living
by foretelling the future through his use of "extra-sensory
perception".--Ed.]
"We're clear, _Saturn_," he wired. "Thanks for getting off course.
You're too far off, though. Better watch out. You're headed smack into
the vacuole."
I wired back, "We like it that way," and refused to pay any attention
to his continued queries. A dismal silence had fallen over my turret.
The hypatomics had picked up now; I could tell by the vibration that we
were on our way, full steam ahead, toward--what?
I found out. Not then, and not for several hours, but at dinnertime. I
had just taken my seat at the table and Slops was just leaning over my
shoulder, ladling soup into my bowl, when there came a high, shrieking
whine from the engine room, the lights flickered, something went
boomety-clang--and the bottom fell out of the universe!
My stomach gave a sickening lurch, so did the mess hall, so did
Slops, and so did the soup. About four of us went into an involuntary
huddle on the floor; when I came up again I had purée of vegetables,
luke-warm, all over me, and my hair had so many alphabet noodles in it
you could have rented me out at a public library.
[Illustration: There was a sudden lurch and we all floated toward the
center of the cabin.]
The din was terrific, but it all meant one thing; a question admirably
summed up by the badly frightened Slops as he screamed, "Wotinell's the
matter!"
I said wearily, "Sue me if I'm wrong, friends. But I believe our
screwball navigator, Mr. Biggs, has finally piloted us into the
vacuole...."
* * * * *
The funny part is, Biggs wasn't even dismayed about it! I made a
half-hearted pretense at eating, then skipped up to the bridge to find
out what--if anything--Biggs was doing about this new disaster.
The answer was obvious. Absolutely nothing. Pale of face, but still
determined of mien, he was sitting in the control pilot's lounge-chair
shaking his head stubbornly as Cap Hanson, Lt. Todd, Chief Engineer
Garrity and every other brevetman aboard the ship bombarded him with
pleas to "do something!"
"Gentlemen," he said, "gentlemen, I ask you to remember that Captain
Hanson assigned me the privilege of navigating this trip. As navigator,
it is my right to do what I consider best--"
Todd, who liked Biggs, said nervously, "But, Lance, we're right in the
middle of the vacuole! Aren't you going to give orders for a back-drag?
We've got to get out of here. Heaven only knows--"
Cap Hanson was purple with impotent rage. "Wait!" he was squalling.
"Just wait till we get back to Earth! I'm goin' to have you busted out
of the service as soon as--" A strange look came over his face. "Golly!
_When_ we get back to Earth? We ain't never gonna get there less'n we
do somethin' quick!"