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They worked for nearly an hour to check through all the circuits to find what damage if any had been done by the strain of Earth's gravitational and magnetic fields. All in all, the Brainchild was in pretty good shape. A few circuits needed retuning, but no replacements were necessary.
Fitzhugh was saying, "that it was possible and necessary to introduce a certain randomity within the circuit choices themselves Ah! Hello, Leda, my dear!" Mike and Fitzhugh rose from their seats. "Leda, this is Commander Gabriel, the Engineering Officer of the Brainchild," said Fitzhugh. "Commander, Miss Leda Crannon, our psychologist."
Lieutenant Commander Jakob von Liegnitz sat in the officers' wardroom of the Brainchild and shuffled a deck of cards with expert fingers. He was a medium-sized man, five-eleven or so, with a barrel chest, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and lean hips. His light brown hair was worn rather long, and its straight strands seemed to cling tightly to his skull.
Steal her brainchild, negate all my efforts to make her independent and cheat me of the reward of my spadework. You wouldnt think of her as a frail credulous woman, easily taken in by the first smooth talker, but a woman is a woman afterall. "Look, Miss Francis," I argued, "youve got a big thing here, a great thing. The possibilities are practically unlimited.
He went on, but it was obvious that the officers and crew of the William Branchell weren't paying the attention they should. Every one of them was thinking dark gray thoughts. It was bad enough that they had to take out a ship like the Brainchild, untested and jerry-built as she was. Was it necessary to have an eight-hundred-pound, moron-genius child-machine running loose, too? Evidently, it was.
Mike the Angel spent the next three days in a pale blue funk which he struggled valiantly against, at least to prevent it from becoming a deep blue. There was something wrong aboard the Brainchild, and Mike simply couldn't quite figure what it was. He found that he wasn't the only one who had been asked peculiar questions by Snookums.
The interstellar ship Brainchild orbited around her destination, waiting during the final checkup before she landed on the planet below. It was not a nice planet. As far as its size went, it could be classified as "Earth type," but size was almost the only resemblance to Earth.
I understand. Thank you, Commander." Mike the Angel nodded curtly and went back to work. Things weren't bad enough as they were. They had to get worse. The Brainchild had been built too fast, and in too unorthodox a manner. The steady two-cycle throb did more damage than it would normally have done aboard a non-experimental ship.
And, too, the power plant of the Brainchild had been destined to be the source of power for the permanent base. It wasn't too bad, really. A little extra time, but not much. The advance base, commanded by Treadmore, was fairly well equipped.
The Brainchild lifted from Antarctica at exactly 2100 hours, Greenwich time. For three days the officers and men of the ship had worked as though they were the robots instead of their passenger or cargo, depending on your point of view. Supplies were loaded, and the great engine-generators checked and rechecked. The ship was ready to go less than two hours before take-off time.
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