tug
hauling a tow to the Platform!"

"But, Joe," insisted Sally, "I didn't think of----"

The Chief heaved himself up. Haney's voice cut through what the Chief
was about to say. Haney said drily: "Sally, if Joe hadn't kissed you for
thinking that up, I would. Makes me feel mighty dumb."

Mike swallowed. Then he said loyally, "Yeah. Me too. I'd've made a
two-ton cargo possible--maybe. But this adds up. What does the major
say?"

"I--haven't talked to him. I'd better, right away." Joe grinned. "I
wanted to tell you first."

The Chief grunted. "Good idea. But hold everything!" He fumbled in his
pocket. "The arithmetic is easy enough, Joe. Cut out the crew and air
and you save something." He felt in another pocket. "Leave off the
landing rockets, and you save plenty more. Count in the cargo you could
take anyhow"---- he searched another pocket still----"and you get
forty-two tons of cargo per space barge, delivered at the Platform. Six
drones--that's 252 tons in one tow! Here!" He'd found what he wanted. It
was a handkerchief. He thrust it upon Joe. "Wipe that lipstick off, Joe,
before you go talk to the major. He's Sally's father and he might not
like it."

Joe wiped at his face. Sally, her eyes shining, took the handkerchief
from him and finished the job. She displayed that remarkable
insensitivity of females in situations productive of both pride and
embarrassment. When a girl or a woman is proud, she is never
embarrassed.

She and Joe went away, and Sally rushed right into her father's office.
In fifteen minutes technical men began to arrive for conferences,
summoned by telephone. Within forty-five minutes, messengers carried
orders out to the Shed floor and stopped the installation of certain
types of fittings in all but one of the hulls. In an hour and a half,
top technical designers were doing the work of foremen and getting
things done without benefit of blueprints. The proposal was beautifully
simple to put into practice. Guided-missile control systems were already
in mass production. They could simply be adjusted to take care of
drones.

Within twelve hours there were truck-loads of new sorts of supplies
arriving at the Shed. Some were Air Force supplies and some were
Ordnance, and some were strictly Quartermaster. These were not component
parts of space ships. They were freight for the Platform.

And, just forty-eight hours after Joe and Sally looked dispiritedly down
upon the floor of the Shed, the