You've seen pictures of the Station – a huge cylinder, like a bass drum, with ships' nose pockets dimpling its sides. Imagine a snare drum, spinning around inside the bass drum; that's the living quarters, with centrifugal force pinch-hitting for gravity. We could have spun the whole Station but you can't berth a ship against a whirling dervish.
So we built a spinning part for creature comfort and an outer, stationary part for docking, tanks, storerooms, and the like. You pass from one to the other at the hub. When Miss Gloria joined us the inner part was closed in and pressurized, but the rest was a skeleton of girders.
Mighty pretty though, a great network of shiny struts and ties against black sky and stars – titanium alloy 1403, light, strong, and non-corrodable. The Station is flimsy compared with a ship, since it doesn't have to take blastoff stresses. That meant we didn't dare put on spin by violent means – which is where jato units come in.
«Jato» – Jet Assisted Take-Off – rocket units invented to give airplanes a boost. Now we use them wherever a controlled push is needed, say to get a truck out of the mud on a dam job. We mounted four thousand of them around the frame of the living quarters, each one placed just so. They were wired up and ready to fire when Tiny came to me looking worried. «Dad,» he said, «let's drop everything and finish compartment D-113.»
«Okay,» I said. D-113 was in the non-spin part.
«Rig an air lock and stock it with two weeks supplies.»
«That'll change your mass distribution for spin,» I suggested.
«I'll refigure it next dark period. Then we'll shift jatos.»
When Dalrymple heard about it he came charging around. It meant a delay in making rental space available. «What's the idea?»
Tiny stared at him. They had been cooler than ordinary lately; Dalrymple had been finding excuses to seek out Miss Gloria. He had to pass through Tiny's office to reach her temporary room, and Tiny had finally told him to get out and stay out. «The idea,» Tiny said slowly, «is to have a pup tent in case the house burns.»
«What do you mean?»
«Suppose we fire up the jatos and the structure cracks? Want to hang around in a space suit until a ship happens by?»
«That's silly. The stresses have been calculated.»
«That's what the man said when the bridge fell. We'll do it my way.»
Dalrymple stormed off.
Tiny's efforts to keep Gloria fenced up were sort of pitiful. In the first place, the radio tech's biggest job was repairing suit walkie-talkies, done on watch. A rash of such troubles broke out – on her shift. I made some shift transfers and docked a few for costs, too; it's not proper maintenance when a man deliberately busts his aerial.
There were other symptoms. It became stylish to shave. Men started wearing shirts around quarters and bathing increased to where I thought I would have to rig another water still.
Came the shift when D-113 was ready and the jatos readjusted. I don't mind saying I was nervous. All hands were ordered out of the quarters and into suits. They perched around the girders and waited.
Men in space suits all look alike; we used numbers and colored armbands. Supervisors had two antennas, one for a gang frequency, one for the supervisors' circuit. With Tiny and me the second antenna hooked back through the radio shack and to all the gang frequencies – a broadcast.
The supervisors had reported their men clear of the fireworks and I was about to give Tiny the word, when this figure came climbing through the girders, inside the danger zone. No safety line. No armband. One antenna.
Miss Gloria, of course. Tiny hauled her out of the blast zone, and anchored her with his own safety line. I heard his voice, harsh in my helmet: «Who do you think you are? A sidewalk superintendent?»
And her voice: «What do you expect me to do? Go park on a star?»
«I told you to stay away from the job. If you can't obey orders, I'll lock you up.»
I reached him, switched off my radio and touched helmets. «Boss! Boss!» I said. «You're broadcasting!»
«Oh – « he says, switches off, and touches helmets with her.
We could still hear her; she didn't switch off. «Why, you big baboon, I came outside because you sent a search party to clear everybody out,» and, «How would I know about a safety line rule? You've kept me penned up.» And finally. «We'll see!»
I dragged him away and he told the boss electrician to go ahead. Then we forgot the row for we were looking at the prettiest fireworks ever seen, a giant St. Catherine's wheel, rockets blasting all over it. Utterly soundless, out there in space – but beautiful beyond compare.
The blasts died away and there was the living quarters, spinning true as a flywheel – Tiny and I both let out sighs of relief. We all went back inside then to see what weight tasted like.
It tasted funny. I went through the shaft and started down the ladders, feeling myself gain weight as I neared the rim. I felt seasick, like the first time I experienced no weight. I could hardly walk and my calves cramped.
We inspected throughout, then went to the office and sat down. It felt good, just right for comfort, one-third gravity at the rim. Tiny rubbed his chair arms and grinned, «Beats being penned up in D-113.»
«Speaking of being penned up,» Miss Gloria said, walking in, «may I have a word with you, Mr. Larsen?»
«Uh? Why, certainly. Matter of fact, I wanted to see you. I owe you an apology, Miss McNye. I was – »
«Forget it,» she cut in. «You were on edge. But I want to know this: how long are you going to keep up this nonsense of trying to chaperone me?»
He studied her. «Not long. Just till your relief arrives.»
«So? Who is the shop steward around here?»
«A shipfitter named McAndrews. But you can't use him. You're a staff member.»
«Not in the job I'm filling. I am going to talk to him. You're discriminating against me, and in my off time at that.»
«Perhaps, but you will find I have the authority. Legally I'm a ship's captain, while on this job. A captain in space has wide discriminatory powers.»
«Then you should use them with discrimination!»
He grinned. «Isn't that what you just said I was doing?»
We didn't hear from the shop steward, but Miss Gloria started doing as she pleased. She showed up at the movies, next off shift, with Dalrymple. Tiny left in the middle – good show, too;
As she was coming back alone he stopped her, having seen to it that I was present. «Umm – Miss McNye ... »
«Yes?»
«I think you should know, uh, well ... Chief Inspector Dalrymple is a married man.»
«Are you suggesting that my conduct has been improper?»
«No, but – »
«Then mind your own business!» Before he could answer she added, «It might interest you that he told me about your four children.»
Tiny sputtered. «Why ... why, I'm not even married!»
«So? That makes it worse, doesn't it?» She swept out.
Tiny quit trying to keep her in her room, but told her to notify him whenever she left it. It kept him busy riding herd on her. I refrained from suggesting that he get Dalrymple to spell him.
But I was surprised when he told me to put through the order dismissing her. I had been pretty sure he was going to drop it.
«What's the charge?» I asked.
«Insubordination!»
I kept mum. He said, «Well, she won't take orders.»
«She does her work okay. You give her orders you wouldn't give to one of the men – and that a man wouldn't take.»
«You disagree with my orders?»
«That's not the point. You can't prove the charge, Tiny.»
«Well, charge her with being female! I can prove
I didn't say anything. «Dad,» he added wheedlingly, «you know how to write it. 'No personal animus against
