"Funny kind of fixing. Moping around Base, crying her red head off. Finally, though, she decided that she had some Scotch pride left, and I let her go aboard again. If she isn't all done with you, she ought to be." This, Lacy figured, would be good for what ailed the big saphead. "Come on, and I'll see whether you're fit to go back to work or not." He was fit. "QX, lad, flit!" Lacy discharged him informally with a slap upon the back. "Get dressed and I'll take you back to Haynes--he's been snapping at me like a turtle ever since you've been out here." At Prime Base, Kinnison was welcomed enthusiastically by the admiral. "Feel those fingers, Kim!" he exclaimed. "Perfect! Just like the originals!" "Mine, too. They do feel good." "It's a pity that you got your new ones so quick. You'd appreciate 'em much more after a few years without 'em. But to get down to business. The fleets have been taking off for a couple of weeks--we're to join up as the line passes. If you haven't anything better to do, I'd like to have you aboard the _Z9M9Z_." "I don't know of any place I'd rather be, sir--thanks." "QX. Thanks should be the other way. You can make yourself mighty useful between now and zero time." He eyed the young man speculatively. Haynes had a special job for him, Kinnison knew. As a Gray Lensman, he could not be given any military rank or post, and he could not conceive of the admiral of Grand Fleet wanting him around as an aid-de-camp. "Spill it, chief," he invited. "Not orders, of course--I understand that perfectly. Requests or ... ah-hum ... suggestions." "I _will_ crown you with something yet, you whelp!" Haynes snorted, and Kinnison grinned. These two were very close, in spite of their disparity in years; and very much of a piece. "As you get older you will realize that it is good tactics to stick pretty close to Gen Regs. Yes, I _have_ got a job for you, and it's a nasty one. Nobody else has been able to handle it, not even two companies of Rigellians. Grand Fleet Operations." "_Grand Fleet Operations!_" Kinnison was aghast. "Holy ... Klono's ... brazen ... bowels! What makes you think I've got jets enough to swing _that_ load, chief?" "I haven't any idea whether you can or not. I know, however, that if you can't, nobody can; and in spite of all the work we've done on the thing we'll have to operate as a mob, as we did before, and not as a fleet. If so, I shudder to think of the results." "QX. If you'll send for Worsel, we'll try it a fling or two. It'd be a shame to build a whole ship around an Operations tank and then not be able to use it; I'll see what I can do. By the way, I haven't seen my head nurse--Miss MacDougall, you know--any place lately. Have you? I ought to tell her 'thanks' or something--maybe send her a flower."