‘Uh, yes, sir.’
‘Pollux?’
‘Aye-aye, sir!’
‘See that you remember it. Pull a fast-talk like that on me when we’re in space and I’ll stuff you down each other’s throat.’ He cracked their heads together smartly and threw them away.
The next day, on the way back from the field with the old gaskets, the twins stopped for a few minutes at the city library. They spent the four days they had to wait boning up on space law. They found it rather sobering reading, particularly the part which asserted that a commanding officer in space, acting independently, may and must maintain his authority against any who might attempt to usurp or dispute it. Some of the cited cases were quite grisly. They read of a freighter captain who, in his capacity as chief magistrate, had caused a mutineer to be shoved out an airlock, there to rupture his lungs in the vacuum of space, drown in his own blood
Pollux made a face. ‘Grandpa,’ he inquired, ‘how would you like to be spaced?’
‘No future in it. Thin stuff, vacuum. Low vitamin content’
‘Maybe we had better be careful not to irritate Dad. This “captain” pose has gone to his head.’
‘It’s no pose. Once we raise ship it’s legal as church on Sunday. But Dad won’t space us, no matter what we do.’
‘Don’t count on it. Dad is a very tough hombre when he forgets that he’s a loving father’
‘Junior, you worry too much.’
‘So? When you feel the pressure drop remember what I said.’
It had been early agreed that the ship could not stay the Cherub. There had been no such agreement on what the new name should be. After several noisy arguments Dr Stone, who herself had no special preference, suggested that they place a box on the dining table into which proposed names might be placed without debate. For one week the slips accumulated; then the box was opened.
Dr Stone wrote them down:
Dauntless Icarus
Jabberwock Susan B. Anthony
H. M. S. Pinafore Iron Duke
The Clunker Morning Star
Star Wagon Tumbleweed
Go-Devil Oom Paul
Onward Viking
‘One would think,’ Roger grumbled, ‘that with all the self-declared big brains there are around this table someone would show some originality. Almost every name on the list can be found in the Big Register — half of them for ships still in commission. I move we strike out those tired, second-hand, wed-before names and consider only fresh ones.’
Hazel looked at him suspiciously. ‘What ones will that leave?’
‘Well —’
‘You’ve looked them up, haven’t you? I thought I caught you sneaking a look at the slips before breakfast.’
‘Mother, your allegation is immaterial, irrelevant, and unworthy of you.’
‘But true. Okay; let’s have a vote. Or does someone want to make a campaign speech?’
Dr Stone rapped on the table with her thimble. ‘We’ll vote. I’ve still got a medical association meeting to get to tonight.’ As chairman she ruled that any name receiving less than two votes in the first round would be eliminated. Secret ballot was used; when Meade canvassed the vote, seven names had gotten one vote each, none had received two.
Roger Stone pushed back his chair. ‘Agreement from this famlly is too much to expect. I’m going to bed. Tomorrow morning I’m going to register her as the R. S. Deadlock.’
‘Daddy, you wouldn’t!’ Meade protested.
‘Just watch me. The R. S. Hair Shirt might be better. Or the R. S. Madhouse.’
‘Not bad,’ agreed Hazel. ‘It sounds like us. Never a dull moment.’
‘I, for one,’ retorted her son, ‘could stand a little decent monotony.’
‘Rubbish! We thrive on trouble. Do you want to get covered with moss?’
‘What’s “moss”, Grandma Hazel?’ Lowell demanded.
‘Huh? It’s… well, it’s what Rolling Stones don’t gather.’
Roger snapped his fingers. ‘Hazel, you’ve just named the ship.’
‘Eh? Come again.’
‘The Rolling Stones. No, the Rolling Stone.’
Dr Stone glanced up. ‘I like that, Roger.’
‘Meade?’
‘Sounds good, Daddy.’
‘Hazel?’
‘This is one of your brighter days, son.’
‘Stripped of the implied insult, I take it that means “yes.”‘
‘I don’t like it,’ objected Pollux. ‘Castor and I plan to gather quite a bit of moss.’