The Galaxy Primes Part 36

"I wouldn't?"

"Of course he wouldn't," Lola put in, soothingly, "except as a very last resort. And, even at worst, Jim could build it almost as easily with common labor. You Primes don't really _have_ to have any Operators at all, you know; but all your Operators together would be perfectly helpless without at least one Prime."

"How come?" and "In what way?" Delcamp and Fao demanded together.

"Oh, didn't you know? After the ship is built and the fields are charged and so on, everything has to be activated--the hundred and one things that make it so nearly alive--and that is strictly a Prime's job. Even Jim can't do it."

"I see ... or, rather, I don't see at all," Fao said, thoughtfully. She was no longer either excited or angry. "A few weeks against twenty-five years ... what do you think of his time estimate, Deg my dear?"

"I hadn't thought it would take nearly that long; but this 'activation'

thing scares me. Nothing in my theory even hints at any such thing.

So--if there's so much I don't know yet, even in theory, it would take a long time. Maybe I'd never get it."

"Well, anyway, I want our _Celestial Queen_ done in weeks, not years,"

Fao said, extending her hand to James and shaking his vigorously. "So I promise not to interfere a bit. If I feel any such urge coming on, I'll dash home and lock myself up in a closet until it dies. Fair enough?"

Since Fao really meant it, that was fair enough.

For a whole day James did nothing except study blueprints; going over in detail and practically memorizing every drawing that had been made. He then went over the ship, studying minutely every part, plate, member, machine and instrument that had been installed. He noted what each man and woman was doing and what they intended to do. He went over material on hand and material on order, paying particular attention to times of delivery. He then sent a few--surprisingly few--telegrams.

Finally he called all fourteen Operators together. He told them exactly what the revised situation was and exactly what he was going to do about it. He invited comments.

There was of course a riot of protest; but--in view of what James had said anent suspensions and expulsions from the Galaxian Society--not one of them actually did quit. Four of them, however, did appeal to Delcamp, considerably to his surprise, to oust the interloper and to put things back where they had been; but they did not get much satisfaction.

"James says that he can finish building this starship in a few weeks,"

Delcamp told them, flatly. "Specifically, three weeks, if we can get the special stuff made fast enough. Fao and I believe him. Therefore, we have put him in full charge. He will remain in charge unless and until he fails in performance. You are all good friends of Fao's and mine, and we hope that all of you will stay with the project. If, however, we must choose now between you--any one of you or all of you--and James, there is no need to tell you what the choice will be."

Wherefore all fourteen went back to work; grudgingly at first and dragging their feet. In a very few hours, however, it became evident to all that James did in fact know what he was doing and that the work was going faster and smoother than ever before; whereupon all opposition and all malingering disappeared. They were Operators, and they were all intensely interested in their ship. Morale was at a high.

Thus, when the _Pleiades_ landed beside the now seething _Celestial Queen_, Garlock found James with feet on desk, hands in pockets, and scanner on head; doing--apparently--nothing at all. Nevertheless, he was a very busy man.

"Hey, Jim!" A soprano shriek of thought emanated from a gorgeous seventeen-year-old blonde. "I can't read this funny-picture, it's been folded too many times. Where does this lead go to?"

"Data insufficient. Careful, Vingie; I'd hate to have to send you back to school."

"'Scuse, please, Junior. Unit Six, Sub-a.s.sembly Tee Dash Ni-yun.

Terminal Fo-wer. From said terminal, there's a lead--Bee Sub something-or-other--goes somewhere. Where?"

"B sub Four. It goes to Unit Seven, Sub-a.s.sembly Q dash Three, Terminal Two. And watch your insulation--that's a mighty hot lead."

"Uh-huh, I got that. Double Sink Mill Mill; Cla.s.s Albert Dog Kittens.

Thanks, boss!"

"Hi, Jim," Garlock said. Then, to Delcamp. "I see you're rolling."

"_He's_ rolling, you mean." Delcamp had not yet recovered fully from a state of near-shock. "So _that's_ what an eidetic memory is? He knows every nut, bolt, lead, and coil in the ship!"

"More than that. He's checking every move everybody makes. When they're done, you won't have to just hope everything was put together right--you'll _know_ it was."

Jim was their man.

And Fao sidled over toward Belle. There was something new about the silver-haired girl, Belle decided instantly. The difference was slight--Belle couldn't put her finger on it at first. She seemed--quieter? Softer? More subdued? No, definitely. More feminine?

No; that would be impossible. More ... more adult? Belle hated to admit it, even to herself, but that was what it was.

"Deg and I got married day before yesterday," Fao confided, via tight beam.

"Oh--so you're _pregnant!_"

"Of course. I saw to that the first thing. I knew you'd want to be the first one to know. Oh, isn't it _wonderful_?" She seized Belle's arm and hugged it ecstatically against her side. "Just too perfectly marvelous for _anything_?"

"Oh, I'm sure it is; and I'm so happy for you, Fao!" And it would have taken the mind of a Garlock to perceive anything either false or forced in thought or bearing.

Nevertheless, when Belle went into Garlock's room that night, storm signals were flying high in her almost-topaz eyes.

"Fao Talaho-Delcamp is _pregnant_!" she stormed, "and it's all _your_ fault!"

"Uh-huh," he demurred, trying to snap her out of her obviously savage mood. "Not me, ace. Not a chance in the world. It was Deggi."

"You ... you _weasel_! You know very well, Clee Garlock, what I meant.

If you hadn't given her that treatment she'd have kept on fighting with him and they wouldn't have been married and had any children for positively _years_. So now she'll have the first double-Prime baby and it ought to be _mine_. I'm older than she is--our group is 'way ahead of theirs--we have the first and _only_ starship--and then you do _that_.

And you wouldn't give _me_ that treatment. Oh, no--just to _her_, that bleached-blonde! I'd like to strangle you to death with my own bare hands!"

"What a h.e.l.l of a logic!" Garlock had been trying to keep his own temper in leash, but the leash was slipping. "a.s.sume I tried to work on you--a.s.sume I succeeded--what would you be? What would I have? What age do you think this is--that of the Vikings? When SOP in getting a wife was to beat her unconscious with a club and drag her into the longboat by her hair? Hardly! I do not want and will not have a conquered woman.

Nor a spoiled-rotten, mentally-r.e.t.a.r.ded brat...."

"You unbearable, conceited, overbearing jerk! Why, I'd rather...."

"Get out! And _this_ time, _stay_ out!"

Belle got out--and if door and frame had not been built of super-steel, both would have been wrecked by the blast of energy she loosed in closing the door behind her.

In her own room, with Gunther blocks full on, she threw herself face down on the bed and cried as she had not cried since she was a child.

And finally, without even taking off her clothes, she cried herself to sleep.

CHAPTER 8

Next morning, early, Belle tapped lightly on Garlock's door.