And they left, Hanson tossing me a swift "saved-by-the-bell" glance that meant undying affection and a bonus in next month's salary. So I muttered, "I hope you don't," and when their footsteps faded from earshot, I made a dive for the concealed set.
But I'd missed the important part. Joe Marlowe was just signing off when I got the phones on.
"—Captain Biggs will then lift his command," came the closing sentence, "from Mars Central, in accordance with orders which await him there! That is all, Saturn!" And he was gone.
Boy, was I nearly busting! I couldn't wait for the sonic to die away so I could tap Biggs in the turret. "What did he say, Lanse?" I hollered. "Cooper came pussy-footing, and I missed the message. So you're going to get a command, eh? Congratulations? Tell me—"
My nerves were like red-hot worms as I listened for Biggs' answer. And then—
"Whonk!" went my set suddenly. "Gwobble-phweee!"
Out of order! Again!
Well, that was a stinker. But I had learned some things, anyway. That Biggs was in line for a captaincy, and that his new command was waiting for him at Mars Central. I dug a copy of Lloyd's Spaceways out of my desk-file, and leafed through it. The information was encouraging. Vessels land-docked at the Martian port included the transport, Antigone, the lugger, Tethys VI, and the brand-new, magnificent, special-extra-deluxe passenger liner, Orestes! Any one of these ships would be a feather in the cap of the skipper who took her bridge. Lancelot Biggs was getting off to a Big Start!
So I should have been very happy. For him. But I wasn't. Not altogether. Somehow I couldn't help feeling it wouldn't be the same ship—the Saturn, I mean—with Biggs no longer ambling the quarter-deck.