Cap Hanson said commiseratingly, "I know, Sparks. I hate his g--I mean, _I_ don't like the gentleman much, either. But, listen! This is something swell! The guy who joined us at Sun City is none other than--" But he never finished his sentence. At that moment, the chronometer tagged 8:00, the hypos whined, the stern-jets roared, and the _Saturn_ lifted gravs from Venus as smoothly as hot butter sliding off a griddle. My eyes opened wide and my mouth dittoed. There was only one pilot in space whose touch on the controls was that deft, that gentle! "_Biggs!_" I cried. "Good old Lancelot Biggs!" * * * * * I turned and banged hell-for-leather out of my room, down the ramp, and into the control cabin, with Hanson vainly trying to lumber along in the suction of my slipstream. As I had guessed, it was my old chum and erstwhile roommate, Lance Biggs, at the studs. Beside him stood the dark-haired beauty who had been Diane Hanson, and was now Mrs. L. Biggs. I yelled, "Lance, you knobby old son-of-a-scarecrow! Where did you come from? Where've you been? How did you two get aboard--" Biggs--_Lieutenant_ Biggs to you, upstart!--swiveled and grinned at me. Marriage might have worked wonders on the inner man, I wouldn't know about that, but it had not changed his exterior in any way, shape or form. He was still the old lean and lanky, gawky and gangling caricature of humanity I'd always known. Tow-headed and wistful of eye and blessed with a nervous, oversized Adam's-apple that bobbled up and down in his throat like an undigested billiard ball. "Hello, Sparks," he said mildly. "We came aboard at Sun City. We've been honeymooning. But my leave is up, now, and I've reported back for duty." I said, "And, man! am I ever glad to see you! We've been one hop-skip-and-jump from the loony-bin on this trip--and I don't mean could be! We can use somebody who has a few brains--" Biggs looked puzzled. "Why? What seems to be the trouble?" "Pig-headed bureaucracy, that's what!" puffed Hanson irately. "Take it from me, son, the Major--" Then suddenly his gaze, slipping past me, grew wary. His eyes veiled, and his arteries stopped hardening. Without a pause he continued in a milder tone: "--major difficulty seems to be that we need brushin' up on the latest space practices. We're a bit rusty, you know. So the Corporation has assigned a very capable officer to--Why, there he is now! Come in, Major Gilchrist!" And in slithered the efficiency expert, glaring like a teetotaller in a taproom. As usual, he had a nasty comment for everybody. To me he said, "Sparks, you left your battery on! A sheer waste of valuable current, sir--_waste_! Be kind enough to go aloft and attend to it instantly!" Then, to the Old Man, "And you, Captain--surely you know the Company rule against allowing women in the control cabins of space-craft?"