After he beat it, I opened the door and peeked out, and sure enough, one of the sailors was standing down at the end of the corridor. Cooper was a canny duck. He was going to make certain that I didn't get loose and help Biggs.
But Cooper wasn't the only guy with smart ideas. I hadn't been radio operator on the Saturn for three years for nothing. There were a couple of wrinkles in the wiring system that even the Installation Department knew nothing about. I ducked back into my cabin, locked the door carefully, hung my coat over the keyhole, and pulled back my mattress.
Underneath, nestling coyly amongst the box springs of my bunk, was a tiny, complete transmission-reception set. I'm no dummy. Midnight watches are a bore, and many is the time I'd turned in with a pair of earphones on, rather than sit nodding in the turret for dreary hours waiting for messages that might never come in.
Of course this auxiliary set was useless so long as the main set was O.O.O.—but by listening in, I could tell how Lanse was coming along with his repair job, perhaps give him a little assistance by remote control should he need it.
So I donned the phones—and just like I thought, the circuit was as cold as a ditch-digger's toes in Siberia. For a few seconds. Then all of a sudden something squawked, "Krrrr-wowowooo! Brglrp! Glrp!"—and a familiar voice came from far, far away. The voice of Lancelot Biggs, saying:
"That ought to do it! Now, let me see if—"
I hugged myself gleefully. The old master mind had done it again! In just two hours and sixteen minutes. Tell me Lancelot Biggs isn't a genius!
I shoved my puss to the mike. I hissed, "Lanse!"
There was a brief silence. Then Biggs' curious response. "Is that you, Sparks?"