“Sure is. How are you, Sam? And what’s doing?”
“As of today, Milt, the electronic log says we’ve traveled 792,014 miles. You can convert that into kilometers if you wish. I prefer the old system, and that’s what we’re . . . well, you know that. Not bad for three years’ travel, heh? But downright aggravating. A snail could go to the North Pole faster than we can, if it could go on a straight line. Or, pardon me, a great curve. It would have time to build a hotel for us and make an enormous fortune renting rooms to the walruses until we arrived. Even if the snail was traveling only a mile every twenty-four hours and we’re averaging about eight hundred miles a day.
“As of . . .” sputter, crackle “… little trouble.”
Firebrass waited until reception was clear before speaking again. “Is everything all-go, Sam?”
“Copacetic,” Sam said. “Nothing unusual has happened. Which means that there are always emergencies, always trouble, but not mutinies, among the crew. I’ve had to boot a few out now and then. If this keeps up, by the time we get to our million-mile mark, I’ll be the only person who was on the boat when it left Parolando.”
More crackles. Then Jill heard a voice that was so deep, so bottom-of-the-well, that cold ran over her neck.
Sam said, “Yeah? Oh, all right, I forgot you, though that’s not easy with you breathing booze down my neck. Joe says he’ll still be here, too. He wants to say hellow to you. Joe, say hello.”
“Hello, Milt.”
Thunder in a barrel.
“How’re thingth going? Thwell, I hope. Tham here, he’th kinda thad becauthe hith girl friend left him. Thye’ll be back, though, I think. He’th been havingk bad dreamth about that Erik Bloodakthe again. I told him if he’d lay off the boo the, he’d be okay. He hathn’t got any ekthcyuthe to drink, thinthe he hath me ath a thyining ekthample of thobriety.”
Jill looked at Hardy, saying, “What the …”
Hardy grinned and said, “Yeth, he lithpth. Joe Miller is as big as two Goliaths put together but he lisps. Joe belongs to a species of subhuman .which Sam named Titanthropus clemensi, though actually I think Joe’s kind is really just a giant variant of Homo sapiens. Anyway, it became extinct an estimated fifty thousand to one hundred thousand years ago. He and Sam met many years ago, and they’ve been real pals since. Damon and Pythias. Roland and Oliver.”
“More like Mutt and Jeff or Laurel and Hardy,” someone muttered.
Hardy said, “Hardy?”
Firebrass said, “Mute it. Okay, Sam. Everything’s in orbit. We got a great new candidate, real first-class officer material. Australian, named Jill Gulbirra. She’s got over eight hundred hours dirigible experience and she has an engineering degree. How do you like that?”
Crackle. Then, “A woman?”
“Yeah, Sam, I know they didn’t have female riverboat pilots or railroad engineers in your day. But in my day we had women airplane pilots and horse jockeys and even astronauts!”
Jill unfroze and started forward. “Let me talk to him,” she said. “I’ll tell that son of a bitch . . .”
“He isn’t objecting. He’s just surprised,” Firebrass said, looking up at her. “Take it easy. What do you care? He’s all right. Even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t do anything. I’m Numero Uno here.
“Sam, she said she’s pleased to meet you.”
“I heard her,” Sam said, and he chuckled. “Listen . . .” Crackle, hiss, sputter. “… when?”
“Static shot that all to hell,” Firebrass said. “And you’ re drifting off. I don’t think we can keep contact much longer. So here goes, fast. I’m a long way from having a full crew, but it’ll be a year before the big ship’s finished. By then I might have enough. If not, what the hell? Airplane pilots and mechanics are a dime a dozen and they can be trained for dirigible operation.
“Listen.”
He paused, looked around-though why Jill did not know-and said, “Heard from X? Have …”
Static rolled over his voice, chewed it up, and wouldn’t let go of the pieces. After trying for several minutes to get hold of Clemens again, Firebrass gave up.