"Celia, you'd better go relieve him. He'll have to work all night to get us an orbit plotted."
"Will do, Skipper," Celia Graham left.
"Cob, you'd better turn in. Get some sleep. But have the NPs round up the crew. If any of them are in the brig, let me know. I'll be on the bridge."
"What time do you want to lift ship?"
"0900 hours."
"Right." Cob took a last loving look around the comfortable officer's club and heaved a heavy sigh. "Tethys, here comes Lover-Girl. It's going to be a long, long cruise, Captain."
How long, he couldn't have known ... then.
The flight out was uneventful. Uneventful, that is for the T.R.S. Cleopatra. Only one tube-liner burned through, and only six hours wasted in nauseous free-fall.
Lover-Girl wormed her way through the asteroid belt, passed within a million miles of Jupiter and settled comfortably down on the airless field next to the glass-steel dome of the Experimental Substation on Tethys. But her satisfied repose was interrupted almost before it was begun. Swarms of techmen seemed to burst from the dome and take her over. Welders and physicists, naval architects and shipfitters, all armed with voluminous blueprints and atomic torches set to work on her even before her tubes had cooled. Power lines were crossed and re-crossed, shunted and spliced. Weird screen-like appendages were welded to her bow and stern. Workmen and engineers stomped through her companionways, bawling incomprehensible orders. And her crew watched in mute dismay. They had nothing to say about it...