Destination: Saturn

XVII

When the planetoid-ship vanished into thin space, Supreme Commander Grauschmitz let out a startled squawk that rang through the bridge of the Saturnian cruiser. The Amoeba-Man was seated (if that is the word) in a sort of saddle-cum-hammock before the viewer. So violent was his reaction, that if the viewer had been an open window he might have tumbled through it.

Extending a pseudopod, he slapped down a few keys. The radar-antennae emitted their searching beams, but with no result. Trembling like a bowlless jelly, the radar operator formed a larynx-and-lips set of vocal equipment, and yapped: “Commander Grauschmitz, sir! The planetoid is not in immediate space—the Ajaxia is not invisible—it has disappeared!”

The Supreme Commander fumed visibly. “Nonsense, idiot! The planetoid-ship weighs millions of tons… no process known to science could cause such a vast body to simply disappear… no process known to our glorious Saturnian science, that is!… and, as is widely known, our glorious Saturnian science is the most advanced science in the entire Universe!”

“Hail to our glorious Saturnian science, hail,” the radar operator clacked mechanically, but he sounded rather dubious about it.

“Hail, hail,” repeated the other Saturnian spacemen present on the bridge. Their tone of voice was notably lacking in enthusiasm.

Supreme Commander Grauschmitz extruded another eye-stalk and bent the full force of his binocular vision on the recalcitrant view-plate. But even this did not summon the missing planetoid-ship back into being once again.

His eye-stalks wilted.

“Oh, I shall be liquefied,” he quavered. “How will I ever explain this to His Imperial Magnificence, Our Beloved Emperor? Surely he will castigate me sorely…”

“Hail to our Beloved Emperor, hail,” the other Amoeba-Men clacked tonelessly.

“Hail, hail,” Commander Grauschmitz mumbled in automatic response. “Oh, what will the Utterly Supreme Admiral of All Admirals, the dreaded ‘Mad-dog’ Heimmerschlitzer, say, when he hears that I had the famous planetoid-ship right here within my very pseudopods… and let it slip away? Oh, he will put me through a court martial so fast I will not even have time for one last salute to Our Glorious Flag—and, pop! will go poor old Grauschmitz into the centrifuge to be homogenized…”

“Hail to Our Exalted Flag, hail,” chorused the crew, with slightly more enthusiasm than usual.

“Yes… into the centrifuge… or perhaps the boiling vats! The ultimate punishment for one who betrays the splendid destiny of our magnificent Saturnian people’s cause—poor old Grauschmitz—blap! Into the boiling vats…”

“Hail to the splendid destiny of our magnificent Saturnians people’s cause—Hail!” chanted the crew with enthusiasm. Grauschmitz cocked a suspicious eye-stalk at them, whereupon they busied themselves guiltily at various tasks.

One of the crew-members shrieked in high falsetto, and bounced up and down in his saddleseat with such excitement that he nearly pitched out onto the deck.

“Fearless Commander!” he yipped. “Look—behold—the planetoid-ship has returned…” He babbled on, pointing with a trembling pseudopod at the screen. Commander Grauschmitz slithered around and craned a half-dozen quivering eye-stalks at the viewer.

“Sacred Slime-Pits, so it has!” he gargled. “Quick—Lieutenant Blatzheim—summon the forward ships! Command them to fling themselves bodily upon the elusive vehicle!”

“Ay, aye, Commander!” clacked the excited little amoeba.

“And remind me to promote you to the honorable rank of Captain Blatzheim, Lieutenant!” the Commander said indulgently.

“Oh, aye, aye, Commander,” the amoeba said delightedly, his protoplasm suffused with a blush that made him resemble for all the worlds a bowlful of cherry gelatine.

“Advance squadron on the—erk!”

Dead silence. The blush faded from Blatzheim; in fact, he paled.

“What is it, Captain? What?” the Commander yarbled. “I can’t see from here…”

“The, ulp, the planetoid-ship vanished again, sir,” said the amoeba in a shaken voice.

“… Oh. I see.” The Commander wobbled weakly. “Remind me to rescind that promotion Blatzheim,” he said grimly.

“Aye, gulp, aye, sir,” the Lieutenant intoned faintly. Suddenly, the flagship was pierced by a powerful radio beam that crackled madly from the overhead speaker. Within a moment the screen cleared and a bloblike Amoeba-Man glared down at the sagging bulk of Grauschmitz fiercely from bristling eye-stalks. His protoplasmic form was glittering with military decorations.

“Achtung, Grauschmitz, you cretin! Utterly Supreme Admiral Heimmerschlitzer speaking. What in the Name of Ten Thousand Blazing Comets are you doing up there…”

“Hail, the Utterly Supreme Admiral, hail,” the crew-members chorused fearfully. The bloodshot eye-stalks of the Admiral swiveled, sweeping them with a piercing gaze.

“Thirty lashes to all you swine,” he grated harshly. “As I was saying, what are you doing up there, Grauschmitz, you simpering fool? You should have reported to Grand Ineffable Prime Base 14-poinf-oh-four minutes ago. What of the precious and, indeed, irreplaceable planetoid from Inner Space, with its superb and priceless treasure-trove of scientific weapons, any single one of which is worth the lives of the lot of you? Eh? Speak up, Grauschmitz, you quavering lackey!”

“Hail, hail,” mumbled the Commander, eye-stalks waving feebly.

“Speak up, or I’ll vaporize the lot of you! You have taken complete control of the planetoid-ship, haven’t you, Grauschmitz? Haven’t you?” he roared.

“Well… uh… not exactly, Your Ultimacy…”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’—Grauschmitz, if you fumbled this vital mission, it’s the searing chambers for you… the electric needle in the nucleus, Grauschmitz, you gibbering clot?”

“Aye, aye, Your Ultimacy,” the Commander whimpered, wishing he could liquefy on the spot. “But it’s not my fault! Whoever’s on the planetoid-ship, is using some novel device by means of which the ship is slipping in and out of subspace, or hyperspace, or some kind of space! They keep slipping away every time my ships get near—our radar and visual equipment is no good, and…”

“Silence!” the Admiral thundered. Grauschmitz yelped and the crew-members collapsed into quavering puddles. The Admiral raked them with a glare of searing contempt.

“Grauschmitz”—his voice sank to an ominous whisper—“you do understand, don’t you, Grauschmitz, that my own commanding officer, His Indescribably Superior Lordship, Prince Zarfbladder, the Minister of Imperial Space Affairs, is personally interested in this mission? If you fail, it means that I have failed… and if I fail, it means the (shudder) super-heated whips for me… and in that case, Grauschmitz, you slobbering zany, it means thirty-seven hours under the Giggling Hooks for you!”

The Commander quailed: “No! Not the Giggling Hooks, Your Ultimacy! Not that!”

“Yes, Grauschmitz, the Giggling Hooks,” he snarled. “… and then, the Acid Tanks. Do you follow my meaning, eh?”

“I’ll take the planetoid-ship, Your Ultimacy! I swear it!” the trembling Amoeba-Man babbled.

“Very well. See that you do. Utterly Supreme Admiral Heimmerschlitzer signing off,” he grated. The screen went dead.

Then it flickered on again. The bulging eye-stalks surveyed the shivering crew for a final time.

“Make that sixty lashes for all,” he grated. “Hail the just punishment inflicted on malingering reactionaries under Sublimely Imperial Justice!” he concluded as the screen faded for the final time.

“Hail the j-just punishment inflicted on m-malingering reactionaries under Sublimely Imperial J-justice, hail,” the crew repeated dispiritedly.