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[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!
It looked like an overgrown cyclotron with a purpose. Huge, banked
panels with studs on them, cryptic plates, coiled thingamajigs,
mechanical what nots and doolollies all over. More guys in sky-blue
uniforms. Bells tingling, television screens popping on and off at
intervals....
"Interestin'," said a voice at my elbow, "ain't it?"
And it was Hank, gulping and grinning and shaking my hand.
"Kinda worried about you, Jim. You shouldn't ought to have allowed
yourself to be drawed into the power-field."
But seeing Hank had made me think of Helen; and now, looking for Helen,
I found something that completed my mental collapse. Helen was standing
shoulder to shoulder with none other than her old man, himself,
in person! And right behind H. Logan MacDowell stood the missing
professors, Hallowell and Tomkins. And lurking behind them, looking
more baffled if possible than myself, was an exceedingly disgruntled
individual in a hard hat. The vanishing detective.
I answered their nods weakly. Then I turned to Hank.
"I give up, pal. What is it? The after-world? Or Old Home Week?"
Hank said seriously, "Well, reckon as how you might call it the