The din was terrific, but it all meant one thing; a question admirably summed up by the badly frightened Slops as he screamed, "Wotinell's the matter!"
I said wearily, "Sue me if I'm wrong, friends. But I believe our screwball navigator, Mr. Biggs, has finally piloted us into the vacuole...."
The funny part is, Biggs wasn't even dismayed about it! I made a half-hearted pretense at eating, then skipped up to the bridge to find out what—if anything—Biggs was doing about this new disaster.
The answer was obvious. Absolutely nothing. Pale of face, but still determined of mien, he was sitting in the control pilot's lounge-chair shaking his head stubbornly as Cap Hanson, Lt. Todd, Chief Engineer Garrity and every other brevetman aboard the ship bombarded him with pleas to "do something!"
"Gentlemen," he said, "gentlemen, I ask you to remember that Captain Hanson assigned me the privilege of navigating this trip. As navigator, it is my right to do what I consider best—"
Todd, who liked Biggs, said nervously, "But, Lance, we're right in the middle of the vacuole! Aren't you going to give orders for a back-drag? We've got to get out of here. Heaven only knows—"
Cap Hanson was purple with impotent rage. "Wait!" he was squalling. "Just wait till we get back to Earth! I'm goin' to have you busted out of the service as soon as—" A strange look came over his face. "Golly! When we get back to Earth? We ain't never gonna get there less'n we do somethin' quick!"
Lancelot Biggs said, "Be patient, gentlemen!"