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For six years they had been taught to rely on scientific methods. Now their best instructor and senior officer was telling them just the opposite! Rip started to object, then he caught a glimmer of meaning. He stuck out his hand. "Thanks, Joe. I hope we’ll meet again." Barris grinned. "We will, Rip.
Cruisers don’t clean their tubes more’n once in ten accelerations. The commander is just thinking up dirty work for us to do, like I said." "Never mind," Rip told him. "Let’s find our squadroom and get settled, then draw some protective clothing and equipment. We’ll clean his tubes for him. Our turn will come later." He remembered the last thing Joe Barris had said, only a few hours before.
The green glades and fresh air of the forest had given beauty to her cheek and grace to her form; and scarcely conceiving how the rouged and jewelled Maréchale could have endured such an absence from the circles of the young queen, and the "beaux restes" of the wits and beauties of the court of Louis the 15th, I thanked in soul the fortunate necessity which had driven her from the atmosphere of the Du Barris to the shades thus sacred to innocence and knowledge.
The twelve were all lean of face, with hair cropped to the regulation half inch. Rip was the only redhead among them. "Sit down," Barris commanded. "I’m going to make a farewell speech." Rip pulled a plastic stool toward him. The others did the same. Major Barris remained standing. "Well," he began soberly, "you are now officers of the Special Order Squadrons. You’re Planeteers.
You're lieutenants now, and a lieutenant has the thickest skull of any rank, no matter what service he belongs to." Rip realized that Barris had not been joking, no matter how flippant his speech. "Go ahead," he urged. "Finish what you were going to say." "Okay. I'll make it short. Then you can catch the Terra rocket and take your eight weeks' Earth leave.
He picked a paper from the sheaf and waived it at Rip. "This is for you, Lieutenant Foster." He read, "Foster, R. I. P., Lieutenant, SOS. Serial seven-nine-four-three. Authorized eight weeks' leave upon discharge from hospital. Upon completion of leave, subject officer will report to Terra base for transportation to SOS Seven on Ganymede." Joe Barris handed Rip his new orders.
All twelve were lean of face, with hair cropped to the regulation half inch. Rip was the only redhead among them. "Sit down," Barris commanded. "Here's my speech." The twelve seated themselves on plastic stools. Major Barris remained standing. "Well," he began soberly, "you are now officers of the Special Order Squadrons. You're Planeteers.
He saw her again like the old courtesan of Horace, ....Mulier nigris dignissima barris soliciting horribly her too avaricious caresses, and employing all the arsenal of her filthy seduction to excite him. Meanwhile the hours were passing away. The spirit travels in vain into the land of phantoms; nature performs her modest functions without caring for the wanderings of the spirit.
Major Barris fixed Rip with a cold eye. "Foster, three orbital turns, then front and center." Rip obediently spun around three times, then walked forward and stood at attention, trying to conceal his grin. "Foster, what does SOS mean?" "Special Order Squadrons, sir." "Right. And what else does it mean?" "It means, ’Help!’ sir." "Right. And what else does it mean?" "Superman or simp, sir."
Some of the spacemen have been high-vacking for twenty years or more, and they’re tough. They’re as nasty as a Callistan teekal. They like to eat Planeteer junior officers for breakfast." Lieutenant Felipe "Flip" Villa asked, "With salt, Joe?" Major Barris sighed. "No use trying to tell you space-chicks anything.
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