"What do you suppose he wants a bicycle for, dear?" Dr. Stone asked. "Prospecting? Surely not."
"Probably just sightseeing. All right, Hazel, you can send it - but mind you, boys, I'll inspect that vehicle-myself; Van trusts me."
Hazel pushed herself away from the rig. "Let the boys tell their own whoppers. I'm getting bored with this chit-chat."
Castor took over at the key, started to dicker. The passenger skipper, it developed, really was willing to buy a bicycle. After a leisurely while they settled on a price well under Castor's asking price, attractively under the usual prices on Mars, but profitably over what the boys had paid on Luna - this for delivery F.O.B. Phobos, circum Mars.
Roger Stone exchanged affectionate insults and gossip with his friend from time to time over the next several days. During the following week the War God came within phone range, but the conversations dropped off and stopped; they had exhausted topics of conversation. The War God had made her closest approach and was pulling away again; they did not hear from her for more than three weeks.
The call was taken by Meade. She hurried aft to the hold where her father was helping the twins spray enamel on reconditioned bicycles. "Daddy, you're wanted on the phone? War God, master to master - official."
"Coming." He hurried forward and took the call. "Rolling Stone, Captain Stone speaking."
"War God, commanding officer speaking. Captain, can you -
"Just a moment. This does not sound like Captain Vandenbergh."
"It isn't. This is Rowley, Second Officer. I -"
"I understand that your captain wanted me, officially. Let me speak with him."
"I'm trying to explain, Captain." The officer sounded strained and irritable. "I am the commanding officer. Both Captain Vandenbergh and Mr. O'Flynn are on the binnacle list."
"Eh? Sorry. Nothing serious, I hope?"
"I'm afraid it is, sir. Thirty-seven cases on the sick list this morning - and four deaths."
"Great Scott, man! What is it?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Well, what does your medical officer say it is?"
"That's it, sir. The Surgeon died during the midwatch."
"Oh-"
"Captain, can you possibly match with us? Do you have enough maneuvering margin?"
"What? Why?"
"You have a medical officer aboard. Haven't you?"
"Huh? But she's my wife!" -
"She's an M.D., is she not?"
Roger Stone remained silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I'll call you back shortly, sir."
It was a top level conference, limited to Captain Stone, Dr. Stone, and Hazel. First, Dr. Stone insisted on calling the War God and getting a full report on symptoms and progress of the disease. When she switched off her husband said, "Well, Edith, what is it?"
"I don't know. I'll have to see it."
"Now, see here, I'm not going to have you risking -"
"I'm a doctor, Roger."
"You're not in practice, not now. And you are the mother of a family. It's quite out of the ques -"
"I am a doctor, Roger."
He sighed heavily. "Yes, dear."
"The only thing to be determined is whether or not you can match in with the War God. Have you two reached an answer?"
"We'll start computing."
"I'm going aft and check over my supplies." She frowned. "1 didn't expect to have to cope with an epidemic."
When she was gone Roger turned his face, twisted with indecision, to Hazel. "What do you think, Mother?"
"Son, you don't stand a chance. She takes her oath seriously. You've known that a long time."
"I haven't taken the Hippocratic oath! If I won't move the ship, there's nothing she can do about it."
"You're not a doctor, true. But you're a master in space. I guess the "succour & rescue" rule might apply."
"The devil with rules! This is Edith."
" Well," Hazel said slowly, "I guess I might stack the Stone family up against the welfare of the entire human race in a pinch, myself. But I can't decide it for you."
"I won't let her do it! It's not me. There's Buster - he's no more than a baby still; he needs his mother."
"Yes, he does."
"That settles it. I'm going aft and tell her."
"Wait a minute! If that's your decision, Captain, you won't mind me saying that's the wrong way to do it."
"Eh?"
"The only way you'll get it past your wife is to get on that computer and come out with the answer you're looking for... an answer that says it's physically impossible for us to match with them and still reach Mars."
"Oh. You're right. Look, will you help me fake it?"
"I suppose so."
"Then let's get busy."
"As you say, sir. You know, Roger, if the War God comes in with an unidentified and uncontrolled disease aboard, they'll never let her make port at Mars. They'll swing her in a parking orbit, fuel her up again, and send her back at next optimum."
"What of it? It's nothing to me if fat tourists and a bunch of immigrants are disappointed."
"Check. But I was thinking of something else. With Van and the first officer sick, maybe about to check in, if the second officer comes down with it, too, the War God might not even get as far as a parking orbit."
Roger Stone did not have to have the thought elaborated; a ship approaching a planet, unless manoeuvred at the last by a skilled pilot, can do one of only two things - crash, or swing on past and out endlessly into empty space to take up a comet-like orbit which arrives nowhere ever.
He covered his face with his hands. "What do I do, Mother?"
"You are captain, son."
He sighed. "I suppose I knew it all along."
"Yes, but you had to struggle with it first." She kissed him. "Orders, son?"
"Let's get to it. It's a good thing we didn't waste any margin in departure."
"That it is."
When Hazel told the others the news Castor asked, "Does Dad want us to compute a ballistic?"
"No."
"A good thing - for we've got to get those bikes inboard, fast! Come on, Pol. Meade, how about suiting up and giving us a hand? Unless Mother needs you?"
"She does," answered Hazel, "to take care of Lowell and keep him out of the way. But you won't be bringing the bikes inboard."
"What? You can't balance the ship for maneuvers with them where they are. Besides, the first blast would probably snap the wires and change your mass factor."
"Cas, where are your brains? Can't you see the situation? We jettison."
"Huh? We throw away our bikes? After dragging almost to Mars?"
"Your bikes, all our books, and everything else we can do without. The rough run-through on the computer made that clear as quartz; it's the only way we can do this maneuver and still be sure of having a safe margin for homing in. Your father is checking over the weight schedule right now."
"But -, Castor's face suddenly relaxed and became impassive. "Aye aye, ma'am."
The twins were suiting up but had not yet gone outside when Pollux was struck by a notion. "Cas? We cut the bikes loose; then what happens?"
"We charge it off to experience - and try to recover from Four-Planets Transit. They won't pay up, of course."
"Use your skull. Where do the bikes end up?"
"Huh? Why, at Mars!"
" Right. Or pretty near. In the orbit we're in now, they swing in mighty close and then head down Sunside again. Suppose, on closest approach, we are standing there waiting to snag 'em?"