"Yes. I confess to a very great respect for your First Mate, Captain Hanson. He has proven himself capable in each of the tests offered so far. His theoretical knowledge is matched by his physical ingenuity; I have awarded him the highest possible grades in Astrogation, Analytical Judgment, and General Knowledge. "If he passes the final test, Resourcefulness, and of course the verbal quiz on Safety Code practices, I shall take great pleasure in submitting his name for advancement. "This test--" He turned to me. "Will be made in your department, Sparks. You--" He transfixed me with an icy glare. "You are sick!" "Who, me?" "Yes. You have--mmm, let me see!--dyspepsia!" "It's a lie!" I said indignantly. "I haven't been near one of them Venusian joy-joints for a year!" "You have," repeated Cooper coldly, "a bad case of dyspepsia. Which is another name for 'indigestion,' young man! You will develop this ailment immediately. And since the captain of a space-going vessel is supposed to be able to step into the breach in any emergency, Lieutenant Biggs will be assigned the task of relieving you at your post." Wow! Was that a break for our side? I darned near split a lip, trying to hide the great big grin that leaped to my gabber. If there was any man aboard the _Saturn_ whose knowledge of radio was equal to my own, that man was Lancelot Biggs! Why, he was the inventor of a new type of radio transmission plate. If this were to be his "final test," he would breeze home, win, place _and_ show! But Cooper didn't notice the elation in my eyes, or the equal joy in the skipper's optics. He was finishing his instructions. "--and because you have learned who I am, Sparks, I suggest that you make no attempt to get in touch with, or speak to, Lieutenant Biggs. You may consider yourself confined to quarters for the duration of the trip." "Very good, sir," I said. "And now--" Cooper turned to my instruments. "We shall set the stage for Mr. Biggs' final test--" He picked up a hammer. The biggest one in the turret. He lifted it, weighed it briefly in his paw, and then-- _Wham!_ Things clanked and clattered; glass tinkled; wires leaped from the innards of my set and wriggled out onto the floor like tiny metal snakes. Cap groaned, and I screamed, "Omigawd!" "_Omigawd!_" I screamed. "Leggo! Stop it! Are you off your jets?" "Stand back, Sparks!" warned Cooper. He raised the hammer again, again brought it down ferociously into the entrails of my beautiful transmission set. _Clinkety-clatter!_ Something shorted; blue fire spat; there was a loud _pop!_ and I had to clutch my breast to make sure it wasn't my heart. "Stand back!" he panted. "We--we've got to--make this--a tough--test!" "We?" I howled. And then he was done. He stepped back and studied his work with the pleased look of a ghoul in a graveyard. "I think that should do the trick," he said gravely. "If he can repair this set and get it in working order, I'll give him top grade in Resourcefulness.