So we framed a message that wouldn't upset the apple cart too soon. It said, "Value of cargo estimated at Sun City spaceport as $50,000." And that was true enough....
Biggs, with his unerring faculty for selecting the wrong moment, chose this time to come bouncing into my radio room. He had taken off his quartzite headpiece, but he was still wearing his bulger, and its deflated folds hung around him like the poorly draped carcass of a Venusian mammoth.
He said, "Hey, Sparks, have you got a book on energy and radiation?"
"Help yourself," I said, pointing to my bookcase. "Why, what's the sudden excitement?"
"I've been thinking," he began, "that maybe—"
Captain Hanson let out a blat like an angry lion.
"Mister Biggs! I thought you were reclaiming those Forenzi jars?"
"Yes, sir. I was. I mean—I am. But—"
"Never mind the 'buts'! Get back to work!"