John extinguished the torch and advanced upon the picturesque red-head. "Have you still got your license?" he asked. "After that stunt you pulled--" "Your political pals took away my private license, but I'm still registered as a pilot. This, I've been told, is an emergency, and, therefore, I am compelled to run your junk-heap for you. I'm willing for no other reason than the fact that my assistance to you in your so-called time of need will be instrumental in getting my private license back. Are you ready to go--and where?" "We're about ready to try," said Steve. "Try?" scorned Sandra. The perfect features twisted in a sneer. "Aren't the best brains working today?" "Look, Pilot Drake, this is an experimental crate from way back," snapped Hammond. "You're likely to find yourself drinking coffee out of a relay-shield. We blew out the only alphatron this side of Jupiter by mishap, and John and we have been trying to gain the same effect by trusting to an experiment made several years ago but abandoned." "I think I'll have none of it," snorted Drake. "I'd like to see a little more of the solar system before I die. You can get some other fool to run your patched-up ash can." "Drake," said Steve Hammond, "if you do not run this crate for us--or at least try as hard as we are trying--I'll personally see that you are mentioned whenever skunks, lizards, and butyl mercaptan are talked about. This is an emergency." "Mind telling me just what type of life-and-death run you're going for?" asked Sandra, loftily. "Enid McBride is hurt and needs him," said Hammond, pointing at John. "There's a small matter involved--a small matter of a baby's life, possibly. If John can get there in time, his presence will give Enid the amount of lift she needs. Get me?" "Baby?" sneered Sandra. "What woman in her right mind would have--" "Your mother," snapped Hammond, "and she made a mistake. Now will you rectify her error and do something of value for once in your ill-used twenty-four years?" "I've no choice," said Drake. "I'll do it. But--" "No buts. You're under suspension right now, and how you handle the _Haywire Queen_ marks your card. Take it--or take it!" "Where's the pilot room?" asked Sandra in a cool tone. "Below--where it usually is in a ship of this type. Your orders will be coming soon enough, I hope." "And our destination will probably be Station 1?" "Right. Will you need navigational details?" "I can work them out." Drake left, and the men put the finishing touches on the double-warp set-up. Hammond turned the equipment on, running them at test power while Jimmy and McBride adjusted the generators for maximum output. Pete inspected the myriad of little glowing lights on the informer panel and said that the ship was working properly from dome to foot. "Grab a rolling chair," said Hammond to McBride. Then he snapped the communicator and said: "Drake. Up at twenty feet per."