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Updated: August 28, 2024
A branch of the old Hawaiian royal family, as I recall." "That's right." The big Hawaiian grinned. "I've got a kid sister that weighs as much as you. And my granddad kicked off at ninety-four weighing a comfortable four-ten." "What'd he die of, sir?" Multhaus asked curiously. "Concussion and multiple fractures. He slammed a Ford-Studebaker into a palm tree at ninety miles an hour.
"G'night, Chief," said Mike the Angel. "Night, sir," said Multhaus. "See you in the morning." "Yeah. Night." Mike trudged toward the companionway that led toward the wardroom. If Keku or Jeffers happened to be there, he'd have a quick round of Uma ni to.
When she reached a velocity of a little over thirty miles per second relative to the sun, and perpendicular to the solar ecliptic Mike the Angel ordered her engines cut back to the lowest power possible which would still retain the one-gee interior gravity of the ship and keep the anti-acceleration fields intact. "How does she look, Multhaus?" he asked.
Lieutenant Keku grinned. "Usually he does, Commander. All this beef doesn't help much against a guy who really has pull. And Chief Multhaus has it." Mike looked into the big man's brown eyes. "Try doing push-ups. With all your weight, it'd really put brawn into you. Sit down and light up. We've got time before take-off. That is, we do if Multhaus has everything ready for the check-off."
Multhaus threw Mike a salute; Mike returned it and headed toward maintenance. He knew Multhaus and the others were curious, but he was just as curious himself. He had the advantage of being in a position to satisfy his curiosity. The maintenance tool room was big and lined with tool lockers. One of them was open. Sprawled in front of it was Lieutenant Mellon.
Then that mixture was pumped out, to be replaced by a mixture of approximately 20 per cent oxygen and 80 per cent nitrogen common, or garden-variety, air. Mike the Angel cracked his helmet and sniffed. "Guk," he said. "If I ever faint and someone gives me smelling salts, I'll flay him alive with a coarse rasp." "Yessir," said Chief Multhaus, as he began to shuck his suit.
As a powerman, he was tops, and he gave the impression that, as far as power was concerned, he could have supplied the ship himself by turning the crank on a hand generator. But neither Mike nor Multhaus approached the size of the Supply Officer, Lieutenant Keku. Keku was an absolute giant. Six-eight, three hundred fifty pounds, and very little of it fat.
My subconscious desire to wreck a spaceship has been brought to the surface. I can't resist it. Am I nutty, maybe?" "Not now, you're not," Mike said, grinning back. "We'll have a bitch of a job getting through the plasmasphere, though," said the chief. "That fraction of a second will " "It'll jolt us," Mike agreed, interrupting. "But it won't wreck us. Let's get going." "Aye, sir," said Multhaus.
I have outlined what has happened, and they're trying to get information from Snookums now. Lieutenant Mellon is still missing." "One down," said Chief Multhaus. There was relief in his voice. "Let's see if we can find the other one," said Mike the Angel. They went down perhaps three more steps, and the speakers came to life again.
Take-off in fifteen minutes!" Keku grinned, saluted Mike the Angel, and walked out the door. Multhaus gazed after him, looking at the closed door. "A blinking prophet, Commander," he said. "A blinking prophet." The take-off of the Brainchild was not so easy as it might have appeared to anyone who watched it from the outside.
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