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"I’m Hawkins, senior space officer," the spaceman said. "Welcome, Foster. We’ve been losing weight wondering if we’d get here in time." "I was never so glad to see spacemen in my life," Rip said truthfully. "What kind of craft is this, sir?" "Experimental," the space officer answered. "It has a number, but we call it the ball-bat because it’s shaped like a ball and goes like a bat.
Spacemen who'd missed their ships; men who'd come here with dreams, and stayed without them the shopkeepers who couldn't meet their graft and were here to try to win it on a last chance; street women and petty grifters.
The chief shook his head. "Make them yourself, Lieutenant. We’re at your service." Rip felt a little ashamed of some of the unkind things he had said about spacemen. "Thank you." He pointed to a spaceman. "Will you calculate the inertia of the asteroid, please?" The spaceman hurried off. "First thing to do is plot the orbit as though there were no other bodies in the system," Rip said.
Then faster and faster, pushing the four spacemen deep into their acceleration cushions, it hurtled spaceward. In a few seconds the Polaris was gravity-free. Once again, Earthmen had started another journey to the stars. "Stand by to reduce speed three-quarters!" roared Major Connel. "Aye, aye, sir," replied Tom, and began the necessary adjustments on the control panel. He spoke into the intercom.
Connel hesitated. "It's due north," he said finally. "We've come a full day west and should be making a turn north. We'll follow the tyrannosaurus's trail for a full day." Roger and Tom grinned. They knew Connel was making every effort to find Astro, while still keeping his mission in mind. The three spacemen moved along the trail quickly, eyes alert for any sign Astro might have left.
The captain grinned at O’Brine’s retreating back, then walked over to Rip. They shook hands. "I’m Southwick, SOS Two. Canadian." Rip introduced himself and said he was an American. He added, "And aside from my men, you’re the first human being I’ve seen since we made space." Southwick chuckled. "Trouble with the spacemen? Well, you’re not the first."
"If we set down and pile out wearing suits at once it will build up our tale of being poor wrecked spacemen " Sleep rods or not, Dane thought to himself, the whole plan was one born of desperation. It would depend upon who manned the E-Stat and how fast the Free Traders could move once the Queen touched her fins to earth. "Knock out their coms," that was Ali continuing to plan.
"Sounds to me as though it's to the left, sir." "O.K., let's go and investigate," said Strong. "There isn't any good reason for a ship coming down in this deadly soup or in this area." Walking slowly and cautiously, the two spacemen angled to the left, peering through the clouds of gas that seemed to get thicker as they moved along. The roaring blast of the ship became louder.
Tom covered social studies, government, economy, and history. Resting as comfortably as possible, each of the four spacemen would sit and think. And when he had gone as far back as he could in his memory of formal education and acquired knowledge, he would begin to talk into the soundscriber. Of all the spools, Tom's were edited the least.
All spacemen have hobbies. There's very little work aboard ship in hyperspace; boredom is the worst enemy. My guns-and-missiles officer, Vann Larch, is a painter. Most of his work was lost with the Corisande on Durendal, but he kept us from starving a few times on Flamberge by painting pictures and selling them.
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