So, "That's swell!" I said—and meant it. Then I stared at the skipper thoughtfully. "But why," I asked him, "tell me about it? Biggs is the man to tell."
Hanson's eyes clouded, and he gnawed savagely at a grubby fingernail.
"That's just it, Sparks. I can't tell him."
"Why?" I demanded. "Laryngitis? Or ain't you and him speaking?"
"I can't tell him," explained the skipper, "because it would be unethical. You see, when a man's bein' examined for his commander's stripes, he ain't supposed to know about it. That's why Cooper come aboard under an alias. He wants to watch Lanse perform his routine duties in routine fashion—like nothin' unusual was goin' on.
"Then, at the end of the trip, he'll tell Lanse who he is, give him a verbal exam on the Space Safety Code, navigation practices, etcetera an' so on, an'—there you are!"
"There," I agreed, "I am. So where am I? Still in the dark, Skipper. Why tell me?"
Hanson glared at me witheringly.
"If you was as deaf," he said, making noises like a sizzling steak, "as you are dumb, the Corporation might give me a new radio operator for this here jallop—I mean, ship! Look, stupid! Biggs had ought to know he's bein' watched by an examiner, shouldn't he? Not that he don't know how to do things right, but because—well, because every so often the boy gets whacky ideas an' starts tryin' experiments.
"An' we don't want him tryin' nothin' like that, do we? Not on this shuttle. So, bein' as how you're his chum, an' since it would be unethical for me to spill the beans—you've got to tell him. Warn him to lay off the nonsense—get it?"