Two months out of Io City Everything was running pretty, The asteroids were thirty hours away, When McNeer, to whom perfection Was a sort of predilection, Said, "Bill, we'll take the hypos down today." Well, the hypatomic motors Are the energy-plus rotors That control a spaceship's motion in the void. When the ship is once free-wheeling 'Neath the vast celestial ceiling, Then's the time to clean the grit with which they're cloyed. So Bill said, "Yup. Okey-dokey!" And with movements slow and pokey Dismounted Number one and got to work. "Do a perfect job, you _globaar_![2] Or I'll crown you with a crow-bar!" Warned McNeer--and then he vanished with a smirk. It was some two hours later As, upon his "sweet pertater" The Chief Engineer was tootling _Venus Nell_, That the Second Mate, half witless, Out of breath and frightened spitless, Burst in crying, "Chief, we're on our way to hell!" "What, already?" drawled McNeer But the mate, pale green with fear, Bawled, "Go get the hypos working, without fail! And go do it on the double, 'Cause we're in a peck of trouble! A rogue asteroid is riding on our tail!" IV Now, in case you don't remember, A "rogue asteroid's" a member Of the minor planet group that's slipped its cogs. Wrenched by gravitational forces, It careens about its courses In an orbit not computable by logs. Tons on tons of granite, metaled, By the tug of Jove unsettled, Weaving in, about, below its normal belt; Is it any wonder why a Spaceman fears this mad pariah? Dreads the moment when its power may be felt? With a single, sharp, explosive Word that acted as corrosive On the mate's embarrassed eardrums, raced McNeer To the engine-room where, peaceful, Happy, busy, very grease-full, Labored Blaster Bill, with grins from ear to ear. "Bill!" McNeer cried, voice all blurry, "Get that hypo in a hurry--" Then his order strangled as he stared, aghast. "What is this?" he faltered weakly, "What is this?" And Bill, quite meekly, Said, "I thought I'd melt it down for a recast!" His imagination racing The Chief gazed upon the casing Of the hypatomic motor Number Three, Now a pool of molten metal Bubbling gently in a kettle. "Goddlemighty!" yelled McNeer. "This thing can't be!" Bill asked, "Why the mad commotion?" Then they glimpsed a sudden motion And the Skipper's face was in the televise. "Got the motors fixed, McNeer?" And the Chief said, low and clear, "No. Does someone know a prayer amongst you guys?"