[Footnote 3: Author Nelson S. Bond first introduced Lancelot Biggs, space navigator and jack-of-all-trades, in the November, 1939 issue of FANTASTIC ADVENTURES, our companion magazine, under the title "F.O.B. Venus." The second mate aboard the _Saturn_, space freighter plying between Earth and other colonized planets under the somewhat bilious leadership of Cap Hanson, Lancelot Biggs got himself promoted to first mate after getting the space freighter out of a bad fix. Author Bond, now one of the top-notchers in popular fiction, has in this story combined two of his best-liked scientifictional characters--Lancelot Biggs and Horse-sense Hank.--Ed.] "Omigod!" I bleated. "Don't tell me, but I--we--all of us are in the _future_!" Donovan caught me as I was about to collapse and clapped me heartily on the back. I think it did more harm than good, but at least it brought me out of the fog. "Correct," he said unhappily. "We're off in the future--hmm--maybe two-three hundred years. Myself, I don't understand how the hell it happened, but--" At that moment a bell sounded. We turned to a hunk of square glass set in a side wall. It lighted, and a crusty-looking face scowled down on us, eyed me appraisingly. "Ah, so you've recovered, young man? Fine! Your friends are waiting here in the control turret. Sparks, come along up here. Mr. Biggs has called a general conference." The light dimmed. Sparks grinned at me languidly. "That's the Old Man. Cap Hanson. Well, let's go, Buster. The fireworks are about to begin." "The name," I told him, "is Blakeson. And how come the fireworks? Me no savvy." "You heard him say L. Biggs was in the control turret, no? That's the tip-off, Bust--" "Blakeson!" I said firmly. "Blakeson," he corrected. "Okay. Buster. Come on!" CHAPTER III Lancelot Biggs' [sqrt](-1) Things moved so swiftly then that the series of surprises I received was practically one continuous blow. The walk through the _Saturn_ was a revelation in itself. Like the cabin in which I had awakened, the ship was all metal, glass and plastic. And a funny metal at that. It was hard, but it looked soft, if you know what I mean. Which I'm sure _I_ don't! The name of the metal, Donovan told me, was "permalloy." It was a special, non-conductive, something-or-other resistant alloy. "--invented," said Sparks, "around the end of the twentieth century." And he looked at me curiously. "Oh. I forgot. You wouldn't know about that, would you?" "Look," I said desperately. "Let me know when we get to the Psychopathic Ward, will you?" But he didn't get it. We walked down one ramp and up another, through an observation room, climbed a ladder, and finally ended in the room the skipper had called the "control turret." And what a place _that_ was!