About him, staff and crew Of the ill-starred _Dotty Sue_ Were huddled, bitter, grim, but unafraid. A quarter mile away The last scene of the fray Tween Man and Asteroid was being played. Her stern jets flaming white Against the endless night The bobbing ship was fighting, bolt and nail, To curve from underneath Those looming tons of death That poised above her like a cosmic flail. McNeer cried, "No, Bill! No!" And then his audio Clacked with the Skipper's thin, metallic voice, "There's nothing we can do But hope he pulls her through. He made his choice, McNeer; a hero's choice." As they watched tensely, all, The spaceship seemed to crawl An inch, a foot, a yard, another yard.... Meanwhile, the massive rock Raced blindly toward the shock With vast, colossal, cosmic disregard. And nearer yet they drew, To their strange _rendezvous_ In space; Fate's balance hovered fine and thin. And then, "The Lord be praised!" The crew a paean raised; McNeer's white lips cracked in a nerveless grin. Imponderable mass And spaceship seemed to pass Each other with a hair 'twixt hull and face; But then, as every voice Roused in a loud rejoice, A single boulder slashed through empty space-- The spaceship buckled, bent; A gaping, white-fanged rent Split stern plates, and McNeer's voice cracked with fear. "Board ship, all hands!" he cried! "Bill's dying there inside!" The wan sun watched the killer disappear. McNeer was first to kneel Beside the shattered wheel And Bill's pale, silent figure; gray with grief He cried, "He's breathing yet! Here, Skipper! Help me get--" But Bill said, "No--don't try to lift me, Chief." "I look all right on top But ... better get ... a mop.... My underneath part's not so good...." A chill Ran through his broken frame, But, to the last ditch game, "I held 'er to 'er course--" said Blaster Bill. VI So--hurtling 'round the Sun On the perihelion run Through the asteroids from Jupiter to Mars, You may chance to see a light In the everlasting night, An unwinking beacon, sister to the stars. And then, if you are not A lousy _rankey-pot_, With the instincts of the back end of a horse, You'll stand a moment, mute, Arm raised in full salute To Blaster Bill--who held 'er to 'er course. * * * * * [Footnote 1: _rankey-pot_--Earthlubber; from the Venusian "_renqui-pth_"] [Footnote 2: _globaar_--shiftless person; Ionian term of reproach] End of Project Gutenberg's The Ballad of Blaster Bill, by Nelson S. Bond