Boy, was I nearly busting! I couldn't wait for the sonic to die away so I could tap Biggs in the turret. "What did he say, Lanse?" I hollered. "Cooper came pussy-footing, and I missed the message. So you're going to get a command, eh? Congratulations? Tell me--" My nerves were like red-hot worms as I listened for Biggs' answer. And then-- "_Whonk!_" went my set suddenly. "Gwobble-_phweee_!" Out of order! Again! * * * * * Well, that was a stinker. But I had learned _some_ things, anyway. That Biggs was in line for a captaincy, and that his new command was waiting for him at Mars Central. I dug a copy of Lloyd's Spaceways out of my desk-file, and leafed through it. The information was encouraging. Vessels land-docked at the Martian port included the transport, _Antigone_, the lugger, _Tethys VI_, and the brand-new, magnificent, special-extra-deluxe passenger liner, _Orestes_! Any one of these ships would be a feather in the cap of the skipper who took her bridge. Lancelot Biggs was getting off to a Big Start! So I should have been very happy. For him. But I wasn't. Not altogether. Somehow I couldn't help feeling it wouldn't be the same ship--the _Saturn_, I mean--with Biggs no longer ambling the quarter-deck. A sentimental sap? Well, maybe I am. But when you have laughed and cried and fought and triumphed and shared sadness and joy with a right, tight, snug little gang of men, all of whom you love like brothers, you hate to think of one of them leaving you. And that's the way it was aboard the _Saturn_. Sure, we had our little squabbles and fusses. Wilson is a sort of show-off, and Todd sometimes has a tendency to let others do his work. The Old Man's not much of an astrogator any more; after all, he's been pushing ether for more years than I've been alive; he's not as smart and alert as some of the fresh young brevetmen. And Biggs' genius for getting us in tough spots is second only to his ability at getting us out again. But we're a _team_, see? And now, with Biggs moving up the ladder, some strange new guy would come in. It was hot! I'd been so busy with the crying towel, that for a few minutes I didn't realize just how hot it was. But now, glancing at the thermometer on my wall, I was jolted to see the mercury standing at 98 degrees! Without pausing to recollect that the audio system was out of order, I reached for the wall phone, bawled into it, "Ahoy, the bridge! Something's gone wrong with the--" That's what I meant to yell, anyway. As a matter of strict truth, I got just as far as, "Ahoy--_blub_!" For the moment I yanked the earpiece off the audio, a pencil of clear, cold water shot from the instrument like a diminutive geyser! Smack in the tonsils it slapped me--and I turned and hightailed it for the door! My guard, a gob named Jorgens, let loose a roar as I appeared. "Oh, no, Sparks! I got orders to keep you in your cabin!" he bellowed.