"Very well, now, Captain--you may return to the bridge and tell Biggs that Sparks has been suddenly overcome with illness. And you, Sparks--to your quarters. And don't forget--you're sick!" I stared miserably at my once-perfect apparatus. I passed a hand over my brow and tottered to the doorway. "Maybe you think," I wailed, "I'm not?" * * * * * Well, I began to feel well enough to sit up and take notice along about lunch time. Doug Enderby, the steward of our void-cavorting madhouse, brought me my grub. He tiptoed in and laid the tray on the desk before me. He whispered: "Are you feeling better, Bert?" "Never worse," I told him gloomily. "Why the crape on the victuals? Are they _that_ bad?" I whipped off the napkin, took one gander at my so-called "lunch," and bleated like a branded sheep. "Great monsoons of Mars--what the hell is this?" "Shhh!" hushed Enderby. "Poached eggs, Sparks." "I can see them!" I hollered. I stared at the pair of baleful, golden horrors-on-toast. "And they can see _me_, too! Take 'em away!" [Illustration: "I can see them!" I hollered. I stared at the pair of baleful golden horrors-on-toast. "And they can see _me_, too!"] Enderby said petulantly, "But you're sick! That's what Captain Cooper said." "Cooper, eh?" I groaned. "I always said it wasn't smart to make torture illegal." Then I remembered why I was confined to durance vile. "You seen Biggs?" I asked. "No. He hasn't been down to lunch. He had to take over for you when you were taken ill." Doug looked anxious. "There--there's something wrong in your turret, Sparks. The intercommunications system is out, and the radio won't work." I glanced at my watch. Two hours had passed since Cooper's coup. Hardly time for Lanse to unscramble the mess of pottery. "Well, cheer up," I said. "Everything will be O.Q. in a little while. Uggh!" I pushed my toast and tea toward him. "Look, pal, how's the cow situation in the galley? You got a nice, three inch steak? Rare? With onions?" "Sirloins," said Doug, "for dinner." "In that case," I sighed, "I'll give this hen-fruit a miss. See you at dinner-time." Doug nodded sagely and sidled toward the doorway. "Steaks," he said, "for the crew. But _you_ get milk toast. You're a sick ma--_Hey!_" Well, I _almost_ nailed him with that second poached egg, anyway. * * * * * After he beat it, I opened the door and peeked out, and sure enough, one of the sailors was standing down at the end of the corridor. Cooper was a canny duck. He was going to make certain that I didn't get loose and help Biggs. But Cooper wasn't the only guy with smart ideas. I hadn't been radio operator on the _Saturn_ for three years for nothing. There were a couple of wrinkles in the wiring system that even the Installation Department knew nothing about. I ducked back into my cabin, locked the door carefully, hung my coat over the keyhole, and pulled back my mattress.