distance, the asteroid filled seven degrees of sky, a clear and lovely half-moon, though only approximately spherical. On the dark part lay tiny twinkles of light, scattered farms and hamlets, the starlit sheen of Lake Alfred the Great. The town, its church on the doll-like edge of naked-eye visibility, its roofs making a ruddy blur, lay serene a bit west of the sunset line: tea time, she thought sentimentally, scones and marmalade before a crackling fire, and Dad and Mum trying not to show their worry about her. Then, dayward, marched the wide sweep of fields and woods under shifting cloud bands, the intense green of the fens, the Cotswolds and rustling Sherwood beyond. Grendel turned slowly against a crystal blackness set with stars, so many and so icily beautiful that she wanted to cry.
When she actually felt tears and saw the vision blur, she bit her lip. Crying wouldn’t be British. It wouldn’t even be Duncanite. Then she realized that the tears were due to a whiff from Herr Syrup’s pipe.
The engineer slipped through the door and closed it behind him. ‘Hist!’ he warned hoarsely.
‘Oh, go hist yourself!’ snapped the girl. And then, in contrition: ‘No, I’m sorry. A bad mood. I just don’t know what to think.’
‘
Ja
. I feel I am up in an alley myself.’
‘Maybe it’s the water aboard ship. It’s tanked, isn’t it? I mean, it doesn’t come bubbling up from some mossy spring, does it?’
‘No.’
‘I thought not. I guess that’s it. I mean, why I feel so mixed up inside, all sad and yet not really sad. Do you know what I mean? I’m afraid I don’t myself.’
‘Miss Croft,’ said Herr Syrup, ‘ve is in trouble.’
‘Oh. You mean about Ro – about Major McConnell?’
‘
Ja
. He has taken inventory of everyt’ing aboard. He has stowed all de electric stuffs in a cabinet vich he has locked, and he has de key, himself. How are ve going to make a broadcaster now?’
‘Oh, damn Major McConnell!’ cried Emily. ‘I mean, damn him, actually!’
‘Dere is a hope I can see,’ said Herr Syrup. ‘It vill depend on you.’
‘Oh!’ Emily brightened. ‘Why, how wonderful! I mean, I was afraid it would be so dull, just waiting for you to—And I’m sorry to say it, but the ship is not very esthetic, I mean there’s just white paint and all those clocks and dials and thingummies and really, I haven’t found any books except things like
The Jovian Intersatellite Pilot with Ephemerides
or something else called
Pictures For Men
, where the women aren’t in classical poses at all, I mean it’s—’ She broke off, confused. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, you wanted me to – But that’s terrif! I mean, wheel’ She jumped up anddown, twirled till her tunic stood out horizontally and her wreath titled askew, and grabbed Herr Syrup’s hands. ‘What can I do? Do you want any secret messages translated into Greek?’
‘No,’ said the engineer. ‘Not yust now. Uh … er—’ He stared down, blushing, and dug at the carpet with one square-toed boot. ‘Vell, you see, Miss Croft, if McConnell got distracted from vorking on de compensator … if he vas not in de machine shop vit’ me very often, and den had his mind on somet’ing else … I could pick de lock on de electrics box and sneak out de parts I need and carry on vit’ our plan. But, vell, first he must be given some odder interest dat vill hold all his attention for several days.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Emily. She laid a finger to her cheek. ‘Let me think. What is he interested in? Well, he talks a lot about spaceships, he wanted to be an interplanetary explorer when this trouble is over, and, you know, he really is enthusiastic about that, why, he’s so much like a little boy I want to rumple his hair—’ She stopped, gulping. ‘No. That won’t do. I mean, the only person here who can talk to him about spaceships is yourself.’
‘I am afraid I am not yust exactly his type,’ said Herr Syrup in an elaborate
When she actually felt tears and saw the vision blur, she bit her lip. Crying wouldn’t be British. It wouldn’t even be Duncanite. Then she realized that the tears were due to a whiff from Herr Syrup’s pipe.
The engineer slipped through the door and closed it behind him. ‘Hist!’ he warned hoarsely.
‘Oh, go hist yourself!’ snapped the girl. And then, in contrition: ‘No, I’m sorry. A bad mood. I just don’t know what to think.’
‘
Ja
. I feel I am up in an alley myself.’
‘Maybe it’s the water aboard ship. It’s tanked, isn’t it? I mean, it doesn’t come bubbling up from some mossy spring, does it?’
‘No.’
‘I thought not. I guess that’s it. I mean, why I feel so mixed up inside, all sad and yet not really sad. Do you know what I mean? I’m afraid I don’t myself.’
‘Miss Croft,’ said Herr Syrup, ‘ve is in trouble.’
‘Oh. You mean about Ro – about Major McConnell?’
‘
Ja
. He has taken inventory of everyt’ing aboard. He has stowed all de electric stuffs in a cabinet vich he has locked, and he has de key, himself. How are ve going to make a broadcaster now?’
‘Oh, damn Major McConnell!’ cried Emily. ‘I mean, damn him, actually!’
‘Dere is a hope I can see,’ said Herr Syrup. ‘It vill depend on you.’
‘Oh!’ Emily brightened. ‘Why, how wonderful! I mean, I was afraid it would be so dull, just waiting for you to—And I’m sorry to say it, but the ship is not very esthetic, I mean there’s just white paint and all those clocks and dials and thingummies and really, I haven’t found any books except things like
The Jovian Intersatellite Pilot with Ephemerides
or something else called
Pictures For Men
, where the women aren’t in classical poses at all, I mean it’s—’ She broke off, confused. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, you wanted me to – But that’s terrif! I mean, wheel’ She jumped up anddown, twirled till her tunic stood out horizontally and her wreath titled askew, and grabbed Herr Syrup’s hands. ‘What can I do? Do you want any secret messages translated into Greek?’
‘No,’ said the engineer. ‘Not yust now. Uh … er—’ He stared down, blushing, and dug at the carpet with one square-toed boot. ‘Vell, you see, Miss Croft, if McConnell got distracted from vorking on de compensator … if he vas not in de machine shop vit’ me very often, and den had his mind on somet’ing else … I could pick de lock on de electrics box and sneak out de parts I need and carry on vit’ our plan. But, vell, first he must be given some odder interest dat vill hold all his attention for several days.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Emily. She laid a finger to her cheek. ‘Let me think. What is he interested in? Well, he talks a lot about spaceships, he wanted to be an interplanetary explorer when this trouble is over, and, you know, he really is enthusiastic about that, why, he’s so much like a little boy I want to rumple his hair—’ She stopped, gulping. ‘No. That won’t do. I mean, the only person here who can talk to him about spaceships is yourself.’
‘I am afraid I am not yust exactly his type,’ said Herr Syrup in an elaborate
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