Jinx Ship To The Rescue
By ALFRED COPPEL, JR.
Stand by for T.R.S. Aphrodite, butt of the Space
Navy. She's got something terrific in her guts and only
her ice-cold lady engineer can coax it out of her!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Brevet Lieutenant Commander David Farragut Strykalski III of theTellurian Wing, Combined Solarian Navies, stood ankle deep in theviscous mud of Venusport Base and surveyed his new command with ajaundiced eye. The hot, slimy, greenish rain that drenched Venusportfor two-thirds of the 720-hour day had stopped at last, but now amiasmic fog was rising from the surrounding swampland, rolling acrossthe mushy landing ramp toward the grounded spaceship. Visibility wasdropping fast, and soon porto-sonar sets would have to be used to findthe way about the surface Base. It was an ordinary day on Venus.
Strike cursed Space Admiral Gorman and all his ancestors with a wealthof feeling. Then he motioned wearily to his companion, and togetherthey sloshed through the mud toward the ancient monitor.
The scaly bulk of the Tellurian Rocket Ship Aphrodite loomedunhappily into the thick air above the two men as they reached theventral valve. Strike raised reluctant eyes to the sloping flank of thefat spaceship.
"It looks," he commented bitterly, "like a pregnant carp."
Senior Lieutenant Coburn Whitley—"Cob" to his friends—nodded inagreement. "That's our Lover-Girl ... old Aphrodisiac herself. The shipwith the poison personality." Cob was the Aphrodite's Executive,and he had been with her a full year ... which was a record for Execson the Aphrodite. She generally sent them Earthside with nervousbreakdowns in half that time.
"Tell me, Captain," continued Cob curiously, "how does it happenthat you of all people happened to draw this tub for a command? Ithought...."
"You know Gorman?" queried Strykalski.
Cob nodded. "Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Old Brass-bottom Gorman?"
"The same."
"Well," Cob ran a hand over his chin speculatively, "I know Gorman'sa prize stinker ... but you were in command of the Ganymede. And,after all, you come from an old service family and all that. How comethis?" He indicated the monitor expressively.
Strike sighed. "Well, now, Cob, I'll tell you. You'll be spacing withme and I guess you've a right to know the worst ... not that youwouldn't find it out anyway. I come from a long line of very sharpoperators. Seven generations of officers and gentlemen. Lousy withtradition.
"The first David Farragut Strykalski, son of a sea-loving Polishimmigrant, emerged from World War II a four-striper and CongressionalMedal winner. Then came David Farragut Strykalski, Jr., and, in theabortive Atomic War that terrified the world in 1961, he won a UnitedNations Peace Citation. And then came David Farragut Strykalski III ...me.
"From such humble beginnings do great traditions grow. But somethinghappened when I came into the picture. I don't fit with the rest ofthem. Call it luck or temperament or what have you.
"In the first place I seem to have an uncanny talent for saying thewrong thing to the wrong person. Gorman for example. And I take toomuch on my own initiative. Gorman doesn't like that. I lost theGanymede because I left my station where I was supposed to be runningsection-lines to take on a bunch of colonists I thought were indanger...."
"The Procyon A people?" asked Cob.
"So you've heard about it." Strike shook his head sadly. "My tacticalastrophysicist warned me that Procyon A might go nova. I left my