THE PRIMUS CURSE By BILL WESLEY _That the psychology boys had been right again, annoyed the veteran captain. He'd felt like a mechanical man all the time. Never would have believed he could send men to their death like that. And the ship! He might have lost everything!_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories May 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Well, Skipper, we'll be in Mercury's com zone in ten hours, plus or minus a half." Captain Evan Grimes eyed his chief engineer sternly. "How'd you know I wouldn't have the recorder turned on, Manson? That could have cost you a week's pay." "Sorry, sir," Bill Manson saluted, still smiling. "I don't mean the salutation, you bonehead. It's been five years since the Service banned the name Mercury for Primus, and I've heard it used at least three times on this trip." "I'll make out a voluntary on it." "Forget it. I don't like those spying recorders any more than you do, but I don't like to see a man throwing his money away either. Especially when he's on a job where he'll probably earn every dollar of it." Manson pulled a fade-away chair from its wall socket and pressed the green button. He waited two seconds for the cushion to inflate, then relaxed in it. "So you really think it's going to be rough," he said casually. Grimes swung his chair ninety degrees and studied the planet, Primus, looming ever larger on the television screen. There were small breaks in the cloud formations, but it was still too early to glimpse any of the compact little cities. "We aren't the first group to tackle this mystery, you know, and we'd be hard put to prove we were the best, from what I've read of the reports." The engineer scratched his carefully trimmed beard and didn't appear at all worried. "If you'd like to know how I feel about it," he grinned, "my wedding date's already set for next June." The captain had to smile. "I attribute your optimism to your inexperience," he said. "Even assuming that we escape with our necks, what makes you think we'll have it cleared up before June? I've got a reputation for doing things the cautious way, you know." Manson shrugged. "I've heard of that code they drum into you at Space Academy. Your ship is your life. Every speck of meteoric dust that sticks to its hide is your responsibility. And right along with the ship comes the crew. Each member a ten million dollar investment--not one hair of his head to be risked unnecessarily." "You're a little inaccurate in the phraseology, but go on. What are you driving at?"