* * * * *
I took him into the rear of the ship and showed him where he would
sleep. In the oily gloom, he regarded the pad from an old acceleration
couch fitted to two scratched and nicked aluminum pipes jury-rigged
between two squat tanks containing water for the atomic pile used close
to planets where the gravitational field interfered with the star-drive.
"Over here's what you have to keep an eye on, Baxter," I told him.
We walked past the dimly lighted rows of towering fuel lines and
cables. Charlie tripped over the hump of a deck-level cable housing.
His knee banged against the deck plates and he stood with an effort.
"Careful," I said. "Now that you have limited medical attention, don't
break a leg."
Baxter rubbed his leg thoughtfully. "Funny. My grandfather used to be
in show business. He told me that telling somebody to break a leg was
wishing them good luck."
I cleared my throat. "It would seem in dubious taste, addressed to an
accident prone. However, you have my best wishes. You realize that your
salary as Prone of 11,000 credits a month and your pay of 23 credits a
month as an APD, j.g., are suspended until the Admiralty rules on your
case."
"Yes, sir. I realize that, sir."
I stopped him in front of the soiled red box that was the tension
gauge. "If the electrical control of the drive somehow becomes broken,
the interrupted circuit will show on the gauge. It is then the duty
of the APD, j.g., to go through the small airlock and maintain manual
control of the pile while at least one of the control circuits is
repaired. The job rarely has to be done, but when it is, it is very
often fatal."