Where Are You Mr. Biggs?

By Nelson S. Bond

I didn’t have to ask whom he meant. “Scrawny neck” would mean only one inmate of our void-perambulating asylum. Lancelot Biggs. Genius and crackpot, scarecrow and sage—and soon to become son-in-law of the skipper.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wilder Publications, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781515411239

Nelson S. Bond

Nelson Slade Bond (November 23, 1908 – November 4, 2006) was an American author who wrote extensively for books, magazines, radio, television and the stage. The 1998 recipient of the Nebula Author Emeritus award for lifetime achievement, Bond was a pioneer in early science fiction and fantasy. His published fiction is mainly short stories, most of which appeared in pulp magazines in the 1930s and 1940s. Many were published in Blue Book magazine. He is noted for his "Lancelot Biggs" series of stories and for his "Meg the Priestess" tales, which introduced one of the first powerful female characters in science fiction.

Book preview

Where Are You Mr. Biggs?

by Nelson S. Bond

© 2016 Positronic Publishing

Cover Image © Can Stock Photo Inc. / prometeus

Positronic Publishing

PO Box 632

Floyd VA 24091

ISBN 13: 978-1-5154-1123-9

First Positronic Publishing Edition

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Where Are You Mr. Biggs?

by Nelson S. Bond

We’re supposed to be an Earth-Mars lugger, but when we got to Mars Central spaceport, the bug-pounder there gave me this solar gram from Terra. It said:

PROCEED URANUS IMMEDIATELY PICK UP CARGO GALLIUM.

So I shoved a frantic for the Old Man over the ship audio, and pretty soon he came lumbering up to my radio room, picking his teeth and scowling like a man with only a half a tummyfull of victuals.

It’s a fine state of affairs he snarled, when a skipper can’t even finish his dinner in peace! Well, what’s the matter now, Sparks? You seeing pink rhinoceroses again? ‘Cause if you are—

I’m not, I told him with quiet dignity, and they aren’t pink rhinos, they’re lavender lobsters, and anyway, I haven’t had a drink for months. Or maybe it’s since yesterday? Anyhow, here’s the grief. And I gave him the wire.

He read it. Read it, your Aunt Nellie—he screamed out loud.

Uranus! he bellowed. "This crate make that trip? They must be stark, staring mad?

Them, I agreed, or me. Flip a coin. What shall I do, Skipper? Tell ‘em we can’t do it? Tell ‘em—?

"No,