So coursed my gloomy thoughts as I sat there in the silence of my radio turret. I did not even notice the Saturn was easing into a cradle. My first intimation that we were on Iris came with the arrival of Cap Hanson. He came burbling into my cubby, happy as a bee in a honeysuckle vine.
"O.Q., Sparks—we done it! We're on Iris. Shoot a message to Earth that we—Hey! What's the matter? Sick?"
Without a word I handed him my transcript of the report. He scanned it swiftly.
"Ah, the medical report, eh? Glory be, Sparks, this is wonderful! I passed! Isn't that swell? And you passed ... and Todd ... and...."
Then he stopped as abruptly as I had. A cloud swept across his forehead leaving his eyes darkened and sombre. In a whisper he said, "Lancelot—!"
I said, "That's the end of the chapter, Skipper. For three years the Saturn has been the finest ship in the fleet. We've done more tough jobs and had more fun than any bunch of spacemen who ever lifted gravs under the same emblem. But it ends now. When Lanse Biggs leaves this ship, nothing will be the same ever again."
"His heart," faltered the Old Man. "Who would have believed there was anything wrong with his heart? I know he's skinny, and all that, but he always seemed healthy enough—"
"Where is he now?"
"What? Oh—outside. He's trying to make a purchase of some real estate, Sparks. It don't matter much just where he buys, so long as he buys. The whole asteroid's honeycombed with pumice pockets, you see. All we got to do is buy up some land, start diggin', produce hard soap and earn the right to remain here. But—his heart! Sparks, I can't believe—"
"Hush!" I warned him. "If those sounds aren't a herd of antelopes on rollerskates, I think that's him coming now."