Roger.

"What do you mean it doesn't work?" exploded Connel.

"Junior's falling into the sun, sir. The radiations are blocking it out
from our present position."

"Couldn't we move to another position?" asked the officer.

"Yes, sir," said Roger, "we could. But to do that would take extra time,
and we haven't got it."

"Then how are you going to find Junior?" asked Connel.

"Alfie's busy with a special scanner, sir, one that's especially
sensitive to copper. Since the sun is composed mostly of gas, with this
filter only Junior will show up on the screen."

"By the rings of Saturn," exclaimed Connel, "you mean to tell me that
Alfie Higgins is building a new radar scanner, just like that?"

"Why, yes, sir," answered Roger innocently. "Is there something wrong
with that?"

"No--no--" said Connel, backing off the bridge. "Just--just go right on.
You're doing fine! Yessirree, fine!" He literally ran from the bridge.

"Most humorous of you, Manning," said Alfie, smiling.

"I'll tell you something funnier than that," said Roger. "I feel the
same way he does. Is there anything you _can't_ do, Alfie?"

Alfie thought a moment. "Yes, there is," he said at last.

"What?" demanded Roger.

"I can't--shall I say?--make as much progress as you do with--er--space
dolls."

Roger's jaw dropped. "Space dolls! You mean--girls?"

Alfie nodded his head.

"Listen," said Roger, "when we get Junior on his way home, and we get
back to the Academy, I promise you I'll show you how to really blast
your jets with the space lovelies in Atom City!"

Alfie put out his hand seriously. "And if you do that for me, Roger,
I'll show you how to use the new electronic brain they recently acquired
at the Academy. Only one other person can operate it. But you definitely
have the potential."

Roger stared at him stupidly. "Huh? Yeah. Oh, sure!"

Gradually the mass of data was brought together and co-ordinated, and
finally, as Tom stood beside him, Major Connel checked over his
calculations.

"I can't see a thing wrong with it, Tom," Connel said at last. "I guess
that's it. Figuring we land on Junior at exactly seventeen hundred
hours, we'd reach the point of no return exactly two hours later."

"Shall I alert stations to blast off for Junior?" asked Tom.

"Yes," said Connel, "bring the _Polaris_ to dead ship in space about
three hundred miles above Junior. That's when we'll blast off in jet
boats."

"Yes, sir," said Tom. His eyes br