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Well, like it says in the old adage, ""Things equal to the same thing gather no moss."" When the Corporation that under-pays us snatched the Saturn off the freight shuttle and turned it into a trouble-shooter for special assignments, we thought we were getting a break. Huh! We were. ""Break"" is just another word for ""bust."" The result of our alleged ""promotion"" was that for a fractional increase in salary we worked twice as hard at jobs ten times nastier than any we had ever tackled before. Like for instance the night Cap Hanson and I-I'm Bert Donovan, bug-pounder of the Saturn-were at the home of Lt. and Mrs. Lancelot Biggs. Biggs is, of course, the First Mate of our void-mangling jalopy. A year ago he married the skipper's daughter, Diane. We were sitting around, chatting about this and that and the other inconsequential truffle, trying to look calmer than we actually felt, when the telephon

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9781636522975

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