t. "What's your
name?" he snapped.

"Why--Cadet Manning, sir," replied Roger.

"Cadet Manning, do you see this calculator?" Sykes pointed to the
delicate instrument that could add, subtract, divide, and multiply, in
fractions and whole numbers, as well as measure the light years in
sidereal time.

"Yes, sir," said Roger.

"Cadet Manning," continued Sykes, "I perfected that machine. Built the
first one myself. Now offhand, wouldn't you say I would know how to
operate it?"

"Yes, sir," stammered Roger. "But I just wanted to help, sir."

"When I need your help I'll ask for it!" snorted the little professor.
He turned to Jeff. "What are they doing here? You know I don't like to
be interrupted when I'm making observations!"

Jeff smiled slowly. "They've been assigned to work with you, sir.
They're your new assistants."

"My assistants!" screamed Sykes. "What space-blasting idiot got the idea
that I needed any assistants?"

"The lieutenant governor, sir," said Jeff.

"Oh, he did, did he!" Sykes turned to the teleceiver, flipped it on,
and waited impatiently for the machine to warm up.

In a moment Vidac's face came into view. Before the lieutenant governor
could say a word, Sykes began to scream at him.

[Illustration]

"What's the idea of sending these brainless Space Cadets to me!
Assistants--bah! Can't you find something else for them to do?" bawled
Sykes. "Is my work considered so unimportant that I should be impeded by
these--these--" He sputtered and turned to wave at Tom, Roger, and Astro
who still stood at rigid attention.

Sykes got no further. Vidac simply cut off his teleceiver and left the
professor staring into a blank screen. His face became beet red, and he
screamed at Jeff Marshall. "Get them out of here! Put them to
work--scrubbing the decks, cleaning up the place, anything! But keep
them out of my way!" Then wagging a finger in Roger's face, he screamed
his last warning. "Don't ever speak to me again, unless I speak to you
_first!_"

Smarting under the continuous blast of anger from the professor, Roger
could no longer restrain himself. Slowly, with the calm deliberate
manner and slow casual drawl that characterized him at his sarcastic
best, the cadet stepped forward. He saluted, and with his face a bare
six inches from Sykes, said evenly, "To speak to you, sir, under any
conditions, sir, would be such a stroke of bad luck, sir, that I
wouldn't wish it on the last spaceman in the world,