The Love Song of Lancelot Biggs By NELSON S. BOND All Lt. Biggs wanted was a shipboard bouquet for his wife, but the seeds grew a little too well! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories September 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Well, it's just like I told you. The last time you friends, dopes, and country hicks lent me your ears I said the _Saturn_ was scheduled for an ordinary, routine, commonplace cargo shuttle to Uranus. But I also hunched it that inasmuch as my screwball pal, Lt. Lancelot Biggs, was treading the bridge almost anything was rather more than likely to happen. And I was right. Only even in my wildest nightmares I didn't have any idea what was going to be chucked at us when we laid our lumbering old space-freighter down in the cradle at Sun City spaceport. You see, the _Saturn_ shuttles back and forth between the planets of the solar system, carrying everything and anything. When you carry cargoes like that, you often find yourself loaded up with plenty of trouble, and I don't mean maybe! And with Lancelot Biggs, those cargoes can _do_ things! What happened was that Johnston--he's the Interplanetary Corporation's port clearance official on Mars--came loping over to our jalopy like a hound in a hamburg orchard and closeted himself with Cap Hanson. For about a half hour they held privy council, as clubby as moths in an all-wool suit, and when they appeared again, the hush-hush was so loud it almost deafened you. A few minutes later, stevedores started hauling into the _Saturn's_ cargo bins an accumulation of air-tight, leaden containers. These workmen, too, were furtive as clergymen at a crap game, and all I could get out of them by way of explanation was the one word sentence, "Idunnonothinaboutit!" So I hunted up Lancelot Biggs, who generally knows practically everything about practically everything, and of course I found him standing with one gangling arm draped limply about the shoulders of his brand-new bride, Diane Biggs (_née_ Hanson), staring at a perfectly commonplace Martian sunset as though it were a gala world premiere presented especially for his benefit. And I complained, "Hey, Biggs! What's all the mystery about? What makes with the cargo?" Biggs said, "Oh, hello, Sparks. Gorgeous evening, isn't it? You know, this magnificent sunset makes me think of that beautiful old Martian poem: '_To be with one's love when the scarlet orb._...'" "Yeah," I said. "It's pretty, but unimportant. What I want to know is, who's hiding what from who? And if we're toting high explosives to Uranus, why doesn't the Old Man tell me so I can quit _now_?"