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ACTIVITIES:
    Ensign Bigby O. Pettigrew, pursuant to verbal orders this date to the effect that he is to locate, isolate and can one quart of rudey rays, is hereby authorized to draw necessary equipment on the recommendation of supply and laboratory commands.
    Carpdyke
    With a flourish he gave it over. And with a hearty handshake and a huge smite upon the back, Carpdyke propelled the ensign to the door. Pettigrew was thrust out and the wind fluttered in the sheet he held. He looked at it, frowned a little and then, squaring his shoulders manfully, strode purposefully upon his way.
    Behind him Carpdyke stood for a little while, devils flickering in his eyes and something like a smile on his mournful mouth. Then he sat down.
    â€œThe first thing supply will send him for is a can of vacuum,” said Carpdyke. “I figure that should take him a couple of days. Then lab will want—” But he shook off these pleasures and looked moodily at his assignment blanks.
    He’d have to have something new in three or four days. Pettigrew ought to be good for a solid month before he began to wise.
    â€œSir,” said the chief raymaster’s mate, “dispatches from base.” He looked at them. “All routine.”
    â€œI’m busy,” said Carpdyke, throwing them into the basket. He settled himself down to compound and compute the next mission of the luckless Pettigrew. “‘Now, then, Commander,’” he mimicked, “‘is there anything you want me to solve or fix up?’” He nearly chuckled. “Ah, Pettigrew, Pettigrew …” He grew mournful again and the chief looked very, very uncomfortable as time wore on.
    â€œSir,” ventured the chief, “that top dispatch says a new batch of officers is being ordered in here. About fifteen ensigns, a couple of commanders and one captain, Congreve, to take over as exec. That’s the Congreve that was cited for his work on new fuels. He’ll probably make this place hot. I—”
    â€œShut up,” said Carpdyke, “I’m busy.” And to himself, “When he gets chased all over the post with that, we’ll try pink beta rays and maybe a left-handed Geiger counter. Then—”
    There was a stuttering snarl out in the hangar and heavy ground vibrations as a big motor warmed. The chief scowled. He looked at his assignment sheets and let off a couple of regulation growls.
    â€œNo flights due off for a week. What’s wrong with them monkeys?” He went to the office door and stood there, a little blinded by the pink daylight. He saw a Number Thirty Starguide being dollied out by a tractor for a takeoff. It wasn’t the space admiral’s barge, but a routine mission cruiser. And the peculiar thing about it was, no lab crew standing by.
    When they had the Starguide into position for its launch one lone figure came shuffling out, climbed the ladder and popped into the hatch. The tractor detached itself and the tower waved all clear.
    There was something reminiscently all wrong about the man who had entered that ship and the chief was almost ready to turn away when it struck him.
    â€œPettigrew!” He started to run into the field and then realized his complete lack of authority. He dashed back.
    Carpdyke was still absorbed.
    â€œSir!” said the chief. “That ensign got a ship! He’s about to take off!”
    Carpdyke almost said “I’m busy,” and came alert and up instead. “Who?”
    â€œPettigrew got a ship. There!”
    Carpdyke was stunned. He ran forward and then was slammed back into the door by the recoil blast of the Starguide. One moment there was a ship, the next there was the dust. Pettigrew was gone.

    â€œYou sure that was Pettigrew?” cried Carpdyke.
    â€œI seen him.”
    Carpdyke breasted the flying clouds of dirt which lingered and got himself to Flight Operation.
    He slammed inside. “What’s going on? Who