The call was quickly answered.
The assembled officers stood leaning against the walls, or perched on the chart-lockers. Now that the trip had actually begun, uniform coats were unbuttoned and caps laid aside. Angus McTavish had a battered brier pipe clenched in his teeth. The stem was so short that the swirling smoke seemed to filter upward through his whiskers.
"Better be careful, Mac," said Portok the Martian. "Maybe the air filters won't be able to handle that smoke of yours."
"Never mind the air filters, sonny!" grunted the big Scot with imperturbable good humor. "They'll handle the smoke of good 'baccy better than the fumes of that filthy grricqua weed you smoke on Mars."
A radio loud-speaker had been left on, and they heard the voice of an announcer on some European station:
"We now bring you a brief sports résumé. In Canton, China, the Shantung Dragons played a double header with the Budapest Magyars. The score of the first game was...."
"Wonder if they ever heard of baseball on Venus!" Steve Brent chuckled.
"Maybe they'll learn as fast as we of Mars," said Portok. "I seem to remember that in the last Interplanetary Championship Series we...."
"Skip it!" Steve growled. "I lost a week's salary on that series."
McTavish and Portok grinned.