Honeymoon in bedlam

But I had some breakfast while I dressed: an aspirin, a cup of coffee, and two more aspirins. And I finally reached the control turret of our space-going scow, there to find my shipmates standing around looking very what-the-hell? The skipper scowled at me as I wobbled in.

"Well! So you made it? Darby, there's limits to everything, and you exceeded 'em last night--"

"Look, Skipper," I said, "I can explain everything. It was this way--"

"Best man!" he snorted. "If you was the best man at that weddin', I'm a grampus' tonsils. You was a disgrace to yourself, the Pegasus, an' mankind in general--Ah! The top of the mornin' to you, son."

Enter the bridegroom, Johnny Larkin, preceded by a sheepish grin. He said, "Good morning, folks. Lovely day, isn't it?" Then, to the Old Man, curiously, "I thought they were Earthdocking us for three weeks, Skipper? Why the conference?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I got a call from G. H. Q. first thing this mornin'. All leaves to be cancelled, they said. We're to have a visitor in a few--There! That must be him now."

It was. Colonel Ira Brophy, one of the igbay otshays of the IPS, the corporation that pays us our monthly insufficient. He bustled in all grins, grunts and glamor, pump-handled the skipper and beamed on us like an overgrown sunbeam.

"A fine looking body of men, Captain Bowman! Yup, yup! And believe me, sir, the IPS is justly proud of this ship and its officers. Yup!"

At my side, Johnny Larkin muttered something that sounded like "--donae ferentes--" But Captain Bowman fell for it, hook, line and sinker. He said, "Thank you, Colonel. And we, in turn, are proud to be privileged to do our little part for the Corporation. Any thing, any time--that's the way we feel about it--"

Brophy pounced gleefully.

"Wonderful, Captain! Marvelous! Yup, yup, yup! I told my associates that would be your attitude. 'The men of the Pegasus,' I told them, 'will be delighted to undertake this mission. Even though it may mean the curtailment of a certain amount of personal liberty and pleasure--'"

Bowman's chin hit his wishbone. A pint-sized Aurora Borealis played over his gills. "M-mission?" he gargled.

"Yes, Captain. It is my pleasure to inform you that to the Pegasus has been allotted the honor of investigating our recent cosmic visitor, Caltech VI. Yup, yup!

"You will be equipped with motion-picture, meteorological and analytical devices, and will lift gravs at 19.03 Solar Constant Time tomorrow. I need not assure you that with you go the best wishes of our great organization--"

I didn't hear the rest. I was too busy stifling an impulse to wham Brophy over the conk with a blunt instrument. I glimpsed the pans of Larkin, Evans, Weir, and the rest of the boys, and knew I wasn't alone in my reaction.

This was a hellbuster of an assignment! Caltech VI was the latest addition to Sol's family, a space-wandering planet that, from God-knows-where, had recently swum within the gravitational attraction of our sun--and taken up residence between Mars and the asteroids.

From the beginning it had been a trouble-maker. I needn't tell even the ground-grippingest Earthlubber of you that the solar system is weighed on such a hair-trigger balance that any considerable outside influence will throw it haywire. Caltech VI--named after the old, 200-inch platter that had spotted it--had raised a terrific rumpus settling into an orbit. It had caused howling storms on Mars, ionic disturbances on mighty Jupiter, and blasted a half hundred planetoids clear out of existence.

Astronomers agreed the newcomer could not last very long. A couple thousand years at the most. Inevitably it would be torn to pieces by the titanic tug-o'-war eternally waged by Jupiter and the Sun. But in the meantime, according to the Fraunhofer analysis, there were valuable ores on the interloper. Somebody, the first person or group, who set claim-stakes on Caltech's soil, would clean up big.

Fine, hush? Swell! I should have been joyful at the prospect of dipping into this celestial gravy, eh? But maybe I forgot to mention that already three expeditions had gone out from Earth and one from Venus. All of them had reported successful landings on the planet, then--silence!

Cap Bowman had gathered up his scattered wits, now, and began volleying protests like a skeet-chucker.

"But, Colonel!" he howled, "The Pegasus isn't good enough for that sort of job. We're a freighter! Our plates are worn, our hypatomics old-fashioned--"

"Yup," said Brophy agreeably. "We know. But your space record is enviable. You have served the Corporation faithfully and well--"

What he meant was, we could be spared. Johnny Larkin said wryly, "I should think those would be arguments for not sending the Pegasus."

Brophy glowered at him from behind glinting pince-nez. "And who might this be?"

The skipper said nervously, "Lt. Larkin, sir. My First Mate." He added proudly, "Him an' my daughter had a military weddin' last night."