To Boldly Go Where No Ferret Has Gone Before!

[pauljmsn]

TO BOLDLY GO WHERE NO FERRET HAS GONE BEFORE!
By Paul E. Jamison

Part 1

There were many things that Cosmonaut Vasily Popovitch enjoyed about working for the International Space Station program. There was, of course, flying to the Station, but that didn't happen very often. Besides that, however, he liked socializing with the American astronauts, because that helped him with his English. Vasily had excelled in Engineering at Moscow University, but he hadn't been bad at English Language Studies, either.

As good as he'd been with English at University, however, Vasily had wanted to be better. His professor had told him that the best way to do that was to learn from the native speakers. So, when he was informed that his engineering background qualified him for working with ISS, he'd readily accepted. The Americans were, on the whole, a friendly bunch and were happy to teach him various bits of American slang and unique words that one never found in University textbooks. Vasily had found Station Communicator duty especially fruitful for learning the finer points of English.

However, he was on Communicator duty now and was learning some new English words that he didn't think that he liked.

Garrett Breedlove's face filled the control room screen now, and he was doing the teaching from all the way up on the ISS. Loudly. Breedlove was one of the exceptions to the friendly-American rule. He was redhaired and florid-faced and he pushed the upper limits of astronaut weight requirements; if he hadn't been so good a botanist, he would never have made the astronaut corps. If there were limits on astronaut temperament, he would have exceeded them long ago. Right at the moment it looked like being good with plants wouldn't cut it anymore.

Colonel Edward McCauley of the US Air Force leaned over Popovich's shoulder and said to him, "Try not to take it personally, Vasily. He's like that with everyone."

Vasily looked up, "Yes, but does he say that about everybody's mother?"

"Pretty much, actually. Here, let me talk to him." Vasily handed his headphone over to the colonel. "Garrett, this is McCauley. Remember – head of NASA's astronaut corps? Your boss? I'll be honest. I'm not happy when one of my people acts like this. Throwing a… tantrum in front of everybody is not something a mature person should do, much less an astronaut."

Breedlove scowled into the camera. "Oh, yeah? You clowns just called me up to tell me that you've got a bunch of bench warrants that you want to slap me with when I'm back on Terra Firma – how am I supposed to act? All hunky-dory, Right-Stuff, no-problem boy-scout smiles?!" He then proceeded to express his opinion on bench warrants, law enforcement agencies, interfering colonels and the astronaut corps in general.

Vasily gasped. McCauley said, "Never mind. He's said much worse before. – Now, look, Garrett. The Law is the Law, and it will do neither you nor the ISS team any good to ignore it. What you are going to do is come back down on the next Orion flight and face the consequences."

Then Breedlove said five simple words – repeatable, even – that would prove quite fateful.

"Come up and get me."

The ISS camera went blank.

By now, two members of ISS management had joined Colonel McCauley at Vasily's console. One of them said, "Well, now what do we do?"

McCauley replied, "As I understand it, the Station Commander has the authority to place a station crewmember in custody if necessary. However, I don't know if we can do that with this crew."

"How come? Remind me who's Station Commander this go-around."

"Roy Fleming."

"Oh, Him. I see what you mean."

"Roy's a nice guy, but he's got the command authority of a shy gerbil."

"Anybody else on the Station crew that can handle this?"

"Not really. I think Breedlove has them all… intimidated. He's that kind of person."

"So, what do we do?"

"H'm. I don't think Breedlove will want to come down to get arrested – he's made that clear. So maybe we will have to go get him."

"What, send someone up on the Orion in a couple of months with the warrants and serve them up there? Can we do that?"

McCauley shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe we'll have to deputize one of the astronauts and have him serve the warrants on Breedlove. It sounds simple."

The second manager spoke up. "Um – it might not be as easy as that, Colonel. We've already been contacted by the FBI about this. They figure that since Breedlove's up there in space, it's their jurisdiction. Somehow."

"What do they want to do, then? Send one of their agents up there to arrest him?"

"Um. Yes."

McCauley shook his head. "Great. Now we get the Feds involved. How can it get worse?"

"Uh, sir?" Vasily held his hand up like a schoolboy. "I've just thought of something else. Mr. Breedlove is originally from Canada, but he moved to the United States. If I remember, he has dual citizenship."

The second manager said, "Oh, Lord, that's right! We were told that some of those warrants were from Canada. Do you think the Canadians will get involved?"

McCauley pinched his nose. "Fine. A jurisdiction issue." He shook his head. "Gentlemen, I'm going to talk to General Totsy about this."

--------------------------------------------

Before he'd become involved in the ISS program, General Charles L. "Hotsy" Totsy, USAF (Ret.), had risen far and fast in the military. By the early 80's, he'd been appointed Director of the Pentagon's Remote Surveillance Office.

General Totsy soon learned that there was just as much intrigue and excitement in the shadow world of spy satellites as anything that Ian Fleming had dreamed up for James Bond. There were moves and countermoves, coups and countercoups, narrow escapes, last-minute saves and the like. It was just that the gamepieces and the players could be thousands of miles apart.

And, just like in the spy novels, General Totsy had had his Nemesis. It was not long after he became Director that he realized that there was a guiding force behind the Soviet Union's spy-satellite program, and it took him almost two years to discover a name – General Aleksandr Zhukov.

They played the Game for years. Sometimes Totsy's team would trump Zhukov's. Sometimes Zhukov's team would triumph – until the next time, perhaps. General Totsy would do his best to get into Zhukov's mind, to figure out his next move, to figure out how he would react to something Totsy's people did. No doubt Zhukov would reciprocate. And in all that time, the closest that the two men ever came to personal contact was once, at a diplomatic function in Norway. Totsy and Zhukov happened to notice each other across a crowded room. Zhukov nodded to Totsy, and Totsy nodded back. That had been that.

After the Soviet Union collapsed, General Totsy had retired from active duty and joined the International Space Station project as Liaison for the United States military. And in one of those remarkable examples of the irony of life, the Russian Military Liaison turned out to be retired Russian General Aleksandr Zhukov.

Now, Totsy sat at a conference table in ISS Headquarters, and Zhukov was sitting directly across from him. Totsy did not want to be there in that room; the tension was so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

Totsy looked at Zhukov. After attempting for years to get into the Russian's head, now he knew exactly what Zhukov was thinking. Zhukov didn't want to be there, either.

Totsy quietly picked up a pencil and wrote on a memo pad in front of him. Rather than making a noise by tearing it off, he pushed the whole pad over to Zhukov. Zhukov leaned over and read the note; Totsy had written I COULD USE A DRINK.

Zhukov looked up and nodded. His eyes then flicked over to the four men at the other end of the table.

They were all dressed in dark suits and wore neckties that were so out of date that they could have qualified as a fashion statement, except that Totsy figured that they'd each worked for several minutes that morning getting the knot just right.

As McCauley had figured, there had developed a jurisdiction issue regarding the arrest of Garrett Breedlove. The FBI had come in and said that they'd send an agent up to arrest him, and had apparently assumed that the matter had been settled. Then the Canadian Bureau of Investigation had showed up and said that they ought to have a say in what went on. The FBI had countered by pointing out that Breedlove was no longer a Canadian citizen, so it was their jurisdiction. The CBI had countered by pointing out that, no, Breedlove was still a citizen of Canada, that's what dual citizenship meant, and that several of his bench warrants were for offenses in Canadian territory, so, yes, they had jurisdiction, too.

What had followed was a turf war between the two law enforcement agencies that rivaled anything Totsy had seen in Pentagon bureaucracy, and that was saying a lot. So, the ISS had arranged this face-to-face meeting to determine the question of jurisdiction. The conference was less than half an hour old at this point, and Totsy had quickly realized that the turf war was much worse than Pentagon-bureaucracy level; it was now at the grade-school playground level. Totsy and Zhukov didn't want to say anything that called attention to themselves.

The four suits sat in two groups of two on either side of the table. The two FBI agents were named Moldy and Scolder. Totsy only knew the two CBI agents as Bob and Doug; he thought that they might be brothers.

The tension in the area between the four of them must have been thick enough that you couldn't cut it with an industrial laser. In a way, the Canadian agents were the more unnerving, because they were so polite.

FBI agent Moldy cleared his throat and leaned forward. He smiled at the Canadians and spoke to them politely. He wasn't too good at smile and polite, it seemed.

"Now, fellas, we need to come to some sort of understanding here. This situation is far too important to let petty differences interfere. But, at the same time, there's the question of expertise. Whoever arrests Mr. Breedlove, they ought to be very good at what they do. And the best way to do that is to go with the agency that has the most experience and the best record of success. That is why we think that the FBI is the natural choice." He smiled. More or less.

CBU agent Bob nodded. "Well, your logic is sound, I will agree, sir. Expertise is important. However, I question your conclusion."

"Oh?" Moldy more-or-less chuckled. "I don't see what's wrong. The FBI has a stellar reputation among law enforcement agencies that world over – except for maybe a few. I can only attribute this to professional jealousy. Oh, I'll admit that we've made a few errors in judgment over the years, but – Why the the hot place are you making that noise?!"

Doug replied, very politely, "Oh, I'm sorry. I was just humming a jazz tune I like. You may have heard of it – `Take the "A" Train'."

"I don't see why –"

"Duke Ellington made it famous."

"I don't –" Moldy stopped and his jaw dropped open. Totsy barely managed to suppress a groan.

Zhukov leaned over and silently mouthed, "Duke Ellington?"

Totsy mouthed back, "Later." At this point agent Moldy eyes were bulging out and his face had turned red. He'd just started puffing his cheeks in and out, like he was playing an air tuba, when Totsy did something very brave. He cleared his throat and spoke up. The four agents turned their heads and scowled at the two other people who happened to be in the room.

"Gentlemen, I am afraid we are wasting our time with all this… discussion. We have to move on and make some sort of decision. Not only that –"

Totsy stopped. Something else had just occurred to him.

"- Not only that, but we've got a weight problem."

The four suits automatically looked down at their waists.

"A weight problem with the spacecraft. The upcoming Orion-7 mission is going to carry a lot of cargo up to the ISS. It's almost up to the upper weight limit as it is. We've not got enough weight margin for an extra passenger."

Moldy seemed to ponder this for a moment before he replied, "Can't you bump one of the Orion crew to make room?"

"No, we can't. Besides the flight crew, all the Mission Specialists are needed to perform the assigned experiments for this mission."

"Change the mission profile, then."

"We can't do that without delaying the flight. If we do that, Breedlove might figure something's up. And so would the public. You said you wanted this done in secret, didn't you?"

Moldy nodded. Bob spoke up then. "How much of a weight margin do you have?"

"We could carry, at most, seventy-five extra pounds."

The four agents were quiet for a few moments. Then Moldy abruptly said, "We'll discuss this tomorrow." They then began to leave.

As they stood up, Zhukov muttered to Totsy, "First round is on me."

The bar they chose was a little place called "The Sidetrack Tap". There were no pole dancers, no jukebox, no patrons clad in black leather. It was an ideal place for talk over a cold one with no distractions. Totsy and Zhukov commandeered a corner booth, and soon the waitress brought their orders over.

Zhukov twisted the top off a bottle of Michelob Light and said, "Russians and vodka – such a tired cliché." He took a long pull, set the bottle back down and leaned forward on his elbows. "Very well, please satisfy my curiosity, my friend. Why would the mention of a famous jazz musician so upset an agent of the FBI?"

Totsy leaned back and swigged his Old Milwaukee. "Oh, Lord. That one. It was quite awhile ago – 1990, in fact. Your guys may not have heard of it."

"1990 – my country had other things on its mind at that time. We let some things slip by."

"Understood. Anyway – in 1990, a reporter with the Washington "Post" wrote an interesting column that stirred up a lot of trouble. He revealed that the FBI had started a file on Duke Ellington in 1984 and had filled it with copies of reports, memos, photos and transcripts – you know the kind of stuff – dealing with possibly subversive activities and statements that allegedly involved Mr. Ellington. The reporter gave no specifics, but there was apparently some incident in '82 that caused the Bureau to start looking at Mr. Ellington. The file had gotten pretty thick over six years, particularly for the '85 and '86 time period.

"Once the column was published, there was an awful lot of uproar from quite a few groups – civil liberties organizations, jazz lovers, a few congressfolk, the editorial pages of newspapers all over the country. The gist of the protests was that Ellington was a fine individual and respected musician who loved his country and would never do anything wrong, and that he didn't deserve to be treated as a lowly foreign spy – no offense intended."

"None taken."

"I'm glad. For several weeks the FBI didn't say a thing. Finally they issued a statement that the file did not exist. Someone brought up Watergate, which meant that nobody believed the Bureau. Later they stated that the existence of such a file was not official Bureau policy, and obviously nobody believed that. The third official statement essentially said that the FBI could do what it wanted and would people please stop poking around in the Bureau's business. You can guess how well that went over.

"Finally, the outcry got so bad that the President of the United States got involved. One fine day, he called a press conference, and the room was packed. He got up in front of the news cameras, smiled and formally apologized to Mr. Ellington for the consequences of being singled out for this sort of scrutiny. The President then tempered this by stating that the Federal Bureau of Investigation has a job to do, a job which the Bureau does well, and he was certain that they would not have started a file without some justification. He said that there was no question about Mr. Ellington's loyalty to America, but that one must realize the potential consequences of one's words and deeds. If the FBI takes an interest in an individual because of what he says and does, well, that's their job.

"The President then smiled, assured everyone that the file in question would be disposed of and that Mr. Ellington's good name would be restored. He concluded his statement by inviting Mr. Ellington's representatives to contact the White House to arrange for a state dinner in his honor some time in the near future.

"Then the President called for questions from the press." Totsy took a drink of Old Milwaukee and shook his head.

"I don't know who asked it, but the first question was whether or not the President was aware that Duke Ellington had died in 1974."

If Zhukov had been drinking his Michelob at this point, he would have either inhaled it or sprayed it or both. As it was, he just stared at Totsy for a brief moment before saying, "You are putting me on."

Totsy shook his head. "I'm afraid not. The President just looked confused – he was good at that – and the press conference was cut short. After that, the White House and the FBI wouldn't make any further comments."

"I see. And the newspaper reporter who first wrote about this – were there any, um, consequences for him?"

"Well, I can't say for sure. Nothing official, of course, but that's not what you asked. All I know is that soon after the President's press conference, the reporter was contacted by the Internal Revenue Service, and they conducted a very thorough audit of his income tax returns for the previous eight years. I'm not saying that this was a coincidence, mind you, or an act of petty revenge; it depends on how paranoid one is.

"In any case, assuming it was an act of revenge, it backfired. The audit revealed a discrepancy, all right – the IRS owed the reporter over $3,500.

"To sum up, the FBI has a long memory. They do not like to hear the name Duke Ellington."

Zhukov chuckled. "Typical. Someday you and I should get together and swap tales like this. I have a large number of KGB stories that would make you sick with laughing." He took a swig of Michelob. "But we have other things to worry about now. The FBI and CBI are bound and determined to send someone up to the Space Station to arrest Mr. Breedlove, no matter what."

Totsy sighed and nodded. "I wasn't just telling them a story about the weight limit of 75 pounds, either. I'm afraid that they'll take this up to a higher authority."

"Your current President? Please do not take this the wrong way, but I question his ability to grasp the technical difficulties."

"Hey, I didn't vote for him. I think you're right. So – what do we do?"

"If we're lucky, the FBI and CBI agree to work with what we have, they deputize a couple of the Orion-7 crew members, give them the warrants – by the way, have they actually said what the warrants are for?"

"I have no idea. I know Breedlove well enough that I can easily believe that he's done something worthy of arrest, but they won't tell us what it is. They made noises about the importance of confidentiality, and I didn't pursue it."

"I see. Where was I? – Give the deputized astronauts the warrants and launch the Orion on schedule. If we're not lucky, the launch is postponed for an indefinite length of time to rearrange the cargo or crew to accommodate a federal agent. And there is no way that we can keep that confidential."

"That's about the size of it. One thing's for sure – there can't be a law enforcement officer in the entire United States or Canada who weighs less than 75 pounds!"

Zhukov was in the process of raising his Michelob to his lips, but the bottle stopped halfway and his eyes narrowed. After a few seconds, he said, softly, "Actually, that's not true."

"What do you mean?"

"Try closer to three and one-half pounds."

Totsy stared at him. "Are you sure that's not vodka in that bottle?"

Zhukov smiled, ever so slightly. "What you should have said was that there is no human law enforcement officer in the United States or Canada who weighs less than 75 pounds."

"What are you – ohhh."

Zhukov nodded. "Indeed, as I understand it, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police's Interspecies Constable Program is doing quite well. There are several overseas police forces that are considering similar programs. I'm sure that it won't be long before the United States will follow Canada's lead."

Totsy was thinking. "Yes… They'd easily meet the weight limitations." He sat up and snapped his fingers. "And I know just the Mountie for this! He's a Canadian citizen, of course, but he's a long-term resident of the US right now. He's in Kansas, I think."

"I know who you're talking about. He's considered a hero in Canada. He'd be ideal, and the CBI will certainly agree. The FBI will be harder to convince, though."

"They'll come around. They've got no choice. We'll propose this to the Federal boys tomorrow."

Zhukov smiled. "It amazing what you can accomplish over a drink in a quiet environment."

The two men clicked their beer bottles in salute and ordered a second round.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 2

As expected, the CBI readily agreed to the idea, with the only stipulation from Bob that he got the Mountie's autograph for his daughter; Doug had no children, but he wanted an autograph anyway. After thinking about it for awhile, the FBI also agreed to the proposal, provided that an American of the same species were to be sworn in as a Federal agent and accompany the Mountie up to the Station. NASA had no problem with this, so plans were made for representatives of the FBI and CBI, and of NASA, to travel to Southern Kansas, where the Mountie was living with some American friends, and discuss the matter with him. Here the American-Canadian turf war flared up again, over the question of which agency's aircraft that they would ride in. After a heated discussion involving the relative merits of American and Canadian commercial aircraft, it was decided that they would use a local charter service. After that was settled, straws were drawn; FBI agent Scolder and CBI agent Doug would fly down with a NASA representative by the name of Charles Keith.

--------------------------------------------

"Skippy Field Tower, this is AAA Charter Learjet 97 Sierra Papa, five miles south of Field, requesting permission to land, over."

A high-pitched voice came over the radio. "This is the Skippy Field Tower to Lear 97 Sierra Papa. You're cleared to land on 19L. Caution the Mini-Learjet taking off from Runway 19R. I don't think wake turbulence will be a problem for your human-sized puddle-jumper, but it pays to be safe, over."

"Roger, Tower. I have the Mini-Lear in sight at the end of 19R, over."

"Roger, 97 Sierra Papa. Ground Control frequency is 132.7. Switch over to Ground on landing, over."

"Roger, Tower, out."

Tower began speaking to someone else. "Mini-Learjet 79 Sierra Kilo, you are cleared for takeoff from 19R, over."

Another high-pitched voice said over the radio, "Roger, Tower."

The charter pilot called back to his passengers, "Take a look at the Lear on the other runway."

Scolder, Doug and Keith watched out of the right-hand windows as the other Learjet began his takeoff run. The plane accelerated quickly, and soon the wheels left the concrete and the plane soared into the sky.

Keith said, "There's something odd about that plane – I'm not sure what it is, though."

The pilot chuckled, "Well, for one thing, it's smaller than ours."

Scolder said, "What – good heavens, it is smaller!"

"Sure is. Just like a normal Learjet, except it's one-eighth scale."

Doug said, "Of course – ferret-sized."

"Yep. The Skippys build a lot of their own aircraft based on original human designs, except they're scaled down to one-eighth. They're well known in the aviation community for it. I've seen their work close up; believe me, they're very good. Maybe even the best there are."

Keith said, "Even so, the engine pods on the – Mini-Lear, is it? – look smaller than one-eighth. Would that be due to scaling?"

"Go to the head of the class! You scale down the dimensions on something by one-eighth, you scaled down the volume by one-eighth cubed, or 1/512th. Those engines don't have to be powerful at all."

"And if they scale down the engines the same amount?"

The pilot grinned. "Then you have one very fast small airplane." The Learjet's wheels touched down in the concrete.

"97 Sierra Papa, switch over to Ground Control, over."

"Roger, Tower. Ground Control, this is 97 Sierra Papa on Runway 19L, over."

"Roger, 97 Sierra Papa, leave the runway at the next taxiway and proceed to the ramp. Plenty of parking for human planes today, over."

"Roger, Ground, taxiing to the ramp, out."

Doug said, "I've got to say, I'm impressed with how big the runways are here."

The pilot replied, "Oh, sure, 15,000 feet. Bigger than even Wichita Mid-Continent, Northwest of here. The Skippys are proud that both runways can handle the biggest aircraft."

Keith said, "Yes, it looks like could easily have handled the space shuttle." He frowned. "But this was never designated an Emergency Shuttle Landing Area. I'm not sure why."

"It's certainly big enough for the Skippys' little airplanes. The Skippys are getting ready to do their own high-speed flight testing. They're even planning on hypersonic flights."

"Hey, look over there!" Scolder pointed to the ramps beyond the other runway. "Is that – is that a one-eighth scale B-52?!"

"Sure thing. They'll be using that as the drop ship for their lifting bodies. They're working on a small-scale X-15 now."

"What!?"

"One of the best experimental test aircraft ever flown – it would make sense for the Skippys to use the design. These weasels have plans." The Learjet rolled to a stop on the ramp, and as the humans got out, a van driven by a ferret in coveralls stopped nearby, and another ferret with a jumpsuit marked "Security" got out.

The Security Skippy asked for their IDs. Agent Doug was polite to him and he was polite in return. He was equally polite to agent Scolder while he examined his ID, which was a pleasant surprise. But what was surprising was the ferret's reaction when the NASA representative handed his ID over.

Skippy snickered and said, "It's been a long time since any of your crowd came around here. You ought to be careful you don't suffer from Information Overload." He handed the ID back and snickered again. "Okay, you're all who you say you are. Climb in and we'll take you to the Building 37. The head Skippy will meet you there for a confab."

The van dropped the three men in front of a very large factory-type building about a couple of stories tall and almost a mile long. As they walked to a human-sized door, Doug said, "What was that about `your crowd', Keith? Have you been here before?"

The NASA rep shrugged. "I'm in the dark, too. We've heard a lot about these guys, but we've never had much contact with them."

Just inside the door was a cabinet holding human-sized safety glasses. They put these on and stepped out into an aisleway to look around. The interior of Building 37 was one single cavernous space, and as far as they could see, it was filled with an incredible variety of aircraft in various stages of assembly – almost all of them reduced in scale. Prominent in front of the three men was a partially-completed, ferret-sized replica of the Boeing B-17 bomber; the vertical tail was just a skeleton that awaited the installation of the skin, and one wing had been installed and awaited the engines. The other wing was being carried forward with an overhead crane.

Down the line, one could see the bare-bones outline of what was obviously the X-15, and beyond that was a gleaming silver P-51 Mustang; Doug was swore that he could recognize the familiar outline of a Boeing 747. Beyond that were aircraft that conformed to no existing design – the Skippys also produced their own originals. There were ground vehicles, too – off to one side was a tiny streamlined shape covered with solar cells, and a few Skippys were lovingly working on a miniature replica of a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. There was one sleek-looking shape far down the line, but it was covered completely with a tarpaulin, and the men paid little attention to it.

There were a lot of ferrets. Almost all of them were dressed in canvas-colored coveralls. They swarmed over all of the aircraft and other vehicles, riveting, hammering, fitting parts together, transporting raw stock. Directly in front of the man was a portable partition, and they could see sparks flying behind it; apparently someone was doing some welding. At the other side of the building, some windows showed a number of desks and drafting tables. This was obviously where the engineer Skippys did their jobs; several were hunched over their desktop PCs or studying blueprints. In one room some ferrets were working with what looked like a scaled-down Cray supercomputer.

Something beeped off to one side. The men turned and saw a small vehicle, towing a trailer piled high with metal ingots, coming down the aisle toward them. They stepped back and the vehicle pulled up in front of them and stopped. The driver, a ferret wearing a portable headphone and microphone, said, "Hello, gentlemen. Is there something we can do for you?"

Scolder replied, "Yes. I think we're expected. We're supposed to meet the, er, Head Skippy."

"Let me get her, then." He fiddled with his mike. "Hey, boss, our visitors are here!"

The sparks behind the partition disappeared, and there was the sound of equipment being put down. A ferret dressed in heavy clothing stepped out from behind the partition and raised her welding mask. She looked at the three men and said, "Hi, there. Welcome to the Skippy Compound. I talked to one of you on the phone earlier. I'm the head Skippy."

"Hello, ma'am. I'm agent Scolder with the Federal Bureau if Investigation." He had to lean forward to shake the ferret's paw.

"And I'm agent Doug with the CBI." The Head Skippy genially shook both their hands and said hello.

"And I'm Charles Keith with the National Aeronautics and Space Administration." Keith extended his hand.

The Head Skippy did not shake hands with him. The ferret just stood and stared up at him.

Keith looked foolish for a few moments, sticking his hand out. Then he straightened up and said, "Alright, what is this? What's wrong?"

The Head Skippy snorted. "I'll tell you what's wrong. The Skippys have long memories, that's what's wrong! We're still unhappy with NASA."

Keith stared at the ferret. "What?! What did we do?"

The Head Skippy cocked her head to one side. "What, didn't they tell you? Have those bean counters that you manage to call `Boss' with a straight face kept their peons in the dark about that little faux pas?"

Keith could only shake his head.

"Well, let me fill you in, buddy. The Skippys have had contact with NASA once and once only. It was a long time ago, especially for ferrets. It was back in April of 1986, to be specific. Does the date ring a bell?"

"Uh…"

"Think Challenger."

"Oh. Oh…"

"The Skippys have closely followed the American space program for decades, ever since Explorer went up in '58. There has always been a large group of us at Cape Canaveral to watch every manned launch, from Mercury, through Gemini and Apollo, through the Shuttle program and the new Orion launches. Legend has it that there was a Skippy at Canaveral in 1950 for the Bumper launch. When Challenger exploded, it tore our hearts out.

"Now realize this – I'm not bragging, I'm just stating facts. The Skippys are the best at what we do. We're engineers, we're technicians, we're craftsferrets, we're makers of things. We supported the Shuttle program wholeheartedly, but we could see the flaws. And we wanted to see the Agency fix its mistakes and get the Space program back on track. The best thing we figured we could do to help was to offer our technical expertise. And, frankly, you could have used it, and it would have done you a world of good.

"So, one of my predecessors as Head Skippy waited ninety days after the explosion, for a proper period of mourning, and then contacted the NASA director and offered the Skippys' help.

"Do you know what he said? No, you don't. He said, `Thank you very much for your generous offer, but how would it look if NASA relied on the help of a group of rodents'!"

Keith smiled and said, "Well, I'm sure that the Director meant no disrespect to you or to any other rodents when he said that."

The entire factory floor went silent incredibly fast, like a three-year-old pulling the plug on a CD player. The head Skippy stood there and silently stared at the NASA rep. Soon the three humans were surrounded by a vast sea of ferrets, dressed in coveralls and white-collar wear, all of them silent and staring.

Agent Scolder and agent Doug took in the situation and each took one step away from Keith, who was starting to become alarmed.

The Head Skippy spoke softly, but her voice carried far. "Show him, guys."

All of the ferrets in that cavernous room opened their mouths wide and pulled their upper lips back to bare their teeth. Now it should come as no surprise that the Skippys offered one of the most comprehensive insurance plans on the planet, and that included terrific dental care. So Charles Keith was confronted with hundreds of pairs of gleaming white canines.

Doug and Scolder stepped further away from Keith. Nobody paid any attention to them.

The Head Skippy said, "See the fangs, monkey-boy?"

Keith replied, "Uh, yuh-yes." He was developing a stammer.

"What do they mean?"

"Uh, I don't – I'm not sure…"

"Oh for –" The Head Skippy stomped her foot and began striding in a tight little circle, waving her paws in the air. "Listen, Mr. Evolutionary Pinnacle, did the course requirements for that fancy- ass MBA of yours include at least ONE class in Zoology?!"

"Uh – uh, nuh-no. The, uh… the Business School Administrish – Admonister – Amdin – staff deci – decided it wasn't relev – relev – relevant for mumumodern business p-practices." Keith swallowed. "Is it?"

The ferret was almost whispering. "Maybe not. Very well, Mr. Ape-in- a-suit, I'll tell you what these fangs mean.

"It means that ferrets are CARNIVORES! Meat eaters! We do not have those stupid buck teeth that are the hallmark of mice and rabbits and rats and other herbivores!"

As one, every ferret in the factory shouted, "WE – ARE – NOT – RODENTS!!!"

Keith stared at the motionless sea of not-herbivores for a few moments before he could regain control of his voice. He finally said, "Well, I'm – I'm sorry that I insulted you folks. I assure you I meant no harm." The stammer went away. "And – if you'll accept it – I offer apologies on behalf of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration for the insult offered back in 1986."

The Head Skippy nodded her head. "Then I accept." The rest of the Skippys went back to work and the noise level rose to normal again. "It is a surprisingly common mistake among you humans. You realize that ferrets tend to be a bit… sensitive… about it."

Keith took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. "I see. Did you try to explain this to the agency back in '86?"

"Oh, we tried. We tried being polite about it. We sent a letter to the NASA Director's office explaining about carnivores and herbivores and the differences in dental structure between the two. What we got back was a package from NASA's PR office thanking Mr. Skippy and his classmates for their questions about the space program, along with several copies of brochures entitled `How to Become an Astronaut' and "How to Go to the Bathroom in Space'; we believe the brochure's target audience was supposed to be K-12 students. I'm willing to give NASA Management the benefit of a doubt and assume that this was simply a mistake. After that, we figured that it wouldn't be worth the trouble to pursue it any further and decided to let NASA paddle its own canoe. In the last 26 years, the Skippys have not tried to contact NASA and NASA has pretty much ignored us. We figure that it's been NASA's loss. I will only make this one observation: by all rights, Columbia should have ended its days in a museum.

"The subject is now closed."

Keith looked down at the ferret for several seconds, then nodded. "Yes.

"In any case, my agency is not the primary motivator for this meeting. We're just…" He thought about it for several seconds. "Actually, if this meeting does have a positive outcome, NASA will merely serve as transport. These two gentlemen represent the interested parties."

Doug and Scolder smiled cheerfully and waved.

The Head Skippy looked at them. "Law enforcement, then? Alright, did you two learn something today?"

Doug replied, "Ferrets aren't rodents!" and Scolder nodded vigorously.

"Very good. So, what can the Skippys do for you?"

Scolder replied, "Actually, uh, Sir, there is a Canadian constable who lives here that we want to talk to."

The Head Skippy nodded. "I figured as much. He's over at the Gymnasium working out with two of his friends. Skippy!"

Another ferret in a set of coveralls came trotting over. "Yeah, Boss?"

"Take our visitors over to the Gym."

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 3

In keeping with their high standards for everything, the Skippys maintained an Olympic-class gymnasium, even though everything was scaled down to ferret-level. There was a multipurpose court for basketball and tennis and gymnastic exhibitions, a swimming pool that would have been impressive by human standards and a vast range of exercise equipment; around the perimeter of the gym was a running track.

There were three ferrets in the Gym when the humans walked in. A Sable ferret was chinning himself from a free-standing overhead bar and he was working it hard. A knotted rope hung almost to the ground from one end of the bar; below the rope was a small wheelchair. A Dark-Eyed White ferret leaped from the high diving board and performed a respectable swan dive into the pool. Another Sable ferret was jogging around the opposite side of the track.

The Sable on the bar saw the humans first. He stopped exercising and dangled by his paws from the bar. He smiled and said, "Hi, there! Something we can do for you guys?"

Agent Scolder smiled back. "How do you do? We're here to speak with Constable Murphy. Would you happen to be him?"

"Oh, no, I'm Max." He twisted around and shouted, "Hey, Murph! Company!"

The other Sable waved as he jogged around the track toward them, and Max began moving paw-over-paw along the bar to the rope. "He'll be here in a few if you'll wait. Hope you don't mind sweaty ferret aroma."

A head of wet fur popped up from the edge of the pool. Max reached the rope and began to climb down. He said, "The champion swimmer there is Sammy. Say hi, to the humans in suits, Sammy!"

"Hello, people." Sammy crawled out of the pool and began to shake himself dry. As Max got himself settled into the wheelchair, Murphy trotted up.

"Constable Murphy of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm agent Scolder of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Scolder held out his hand.

Murphy shook. "Pleased to meet you. You're an Episcopal lay- minister, too, I see."

Scolder looked surprised. Max chuckled. "It's something he can do. He's good at it, too."

"Oh. Well. This is agent Doug of the Canadian Bureau of Investigation, and Charles Keith of NASA." There were handshakes and pawshakes all around.

Murphy noted that Keith was a bit hesitant. "I take it you've met the Head Skippy."

"Uh, yes. I can't say as I blame her."

"Nice of you to say that. Now, what can I do for you?"

The humans looked at Sammy and Max. Murphy said, "These are my friends. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of them. I will vouch for their integrity."

"Very well. Constable, we want your help in making an arrest."

"I don't find that surprising. Can I have the details?"

"First, I want to tell you that this will involve travel. The individual in question is approximately 220 miles away."

"That doesn't sound far at all."

"Straight up."

"Straight – where is this perp?"

"He's located on the International Space Station."

"The ISS? Who is this guy? What's he done?"

"The person in question is astronaut Garrett Breedlove. We and the Canadians have several outstanding warrants to serve on him. We can't tell you what the warrants are for; right now it's on a need- to-know basis. But we want to send law enforcement officers up to the Station to arrest Mr. Breedlove as soon as possible."

"Okay, why me?"

"Weight."

"Wait for what?"

Keith said, "No, no, weight. The manifest for the next Orion launch is pretty much set in concrete. If we're going to send a policeman up on that flight, we've not got much room for him.'

"Ah."

Scolder said, "For some peculiar reason, Canada is the only country in the world that employs ferrets as law enforcement officers. You're resident here in the States and you're a Mountie. In fact, to put it bluntly, you're probably the most famous ferret Mountie in the world."

"Please, I'm blushing."

Sammy piped up, "No, you're not. You're eating this up!"

"Be quiet. How much of a weight margin are we talking about?"

"Seventy-five pounds. Considering you weigh about three and one-half pounds, there should be no problem."

"Actually it's over three and three-quarters right now." He patted his stomach. "That's why I was jogging; I need to lose the spare tire. But the point's still valid." Murphy looked up thoughtfully. "You're serious? You actually want to send me into space to arrest someone?"

Doug replied, "That's correct, Constable. You would be representing our country's interests up there. You'd travel with another ferret."

Murphy cocked his head to one side. "Another ferret?"

Scolder said, "Yes, to represent American law enforcement." He frowned. "Unfortunately, the FBI doesn't employ ferrets. Up to now that hasn't been a priority with us. So, we'll have to temporarily deputize one to go with you."

Murphy thought about this. "H'm. I wouldn't ask the Skippys if I were you. I don't think they'd want to ride on a NASA vehicle, please don't take me wrong."

Murphy looked at Sammy and Max, then back at the humans. "I've got to discuss this with my friends. If you don't mind…"

"Take your time. We'll be here." The three ferrets strolled and rolled along the track until they were out of earshot of the humans.

Sammy said, "What do you think, Murph? Do you want to do this?"

It was a few moments before Murphy answered. "What, be the first ferret to travel in space? Look down at the Earth from a couple of hundred miles up? No, my friend, no, I want to do this very much. Who wouldn't? The problem I see is – who's going with me?"

He thought some more. He thought of the weightless environment of the space station and how graceful the astronauts looked while flying around. He could think of one ferret that might like that.

Murphy looked down at his friend in the wheelchair. "Max?"

Max looked back at him. "Murphy, thank you for the offer. But no."

"What? Max, I'd think that would a golden opportunity for you!"

"Yes, and don't think that it isn't tempting. But, I don't think it would be as easy for me in Zero-G as you think. Look at the videos of the astronauts some time. Their legs are very useful for propelling them around in Zero-G – you can go pretty fast with a good kick. I'd have to make do with flapping my arms."

Max placed his paws on his legs. "And these things would be worse than useless. They'd be a dead weight for me. They'd throw my balance off."

Sammy said, "You could learn how to get around."

"I'm sure I could. Given enough time. But the upcoming Orion-7 mission is for hauling cargo and crew exchange. They'll probably stay at the Station for a week or so. I don't think that's enough time for me to get my space legs. You ought to go with a ferret whose hind legs are useful as well as ornamental."

Murphy said nothing. Finally he nodded, then looked at Sammy.

Sammy said, "Murphy, where you go, I'll go, too. That's always been the way with us."

"Thank you, Sammy. Max, your logic is sound, but remember, the three of us are a team. If I thought there was a way that I could get you to go with us, I'd fight for it."

"I know, Murph. And it means so much to me that you made the offer. Thank you."

"You're welcome, friend. Okay, guys, are we decided?"

"I think so, Murph. I'll tell my congregation that I'm going on vacation – they're always bugging me about that – and I'll tell my parents that I'm going off with you on some special assignment. It's the truth, really."

"Good, let's go talk with the humans."

--------------------------------------------

Awhile later, the humans and ferrets were gathered in a conference room next to the Gym. Murphy was now dressed in his RCMP uniform and Sammy was wearing his yarmulke.

Agent Scolder said, "Alright, Sammy, do I understand, then, that you agree to travel to the International Space Station on behalf of the Federal Bureau of Investigation to serve the warrants on Mr. Breedlove?"

Sammy nodded. "I do, sir."

"Will your religious beliefs interfere with you carrying out this assignment?"

"I doubt that they will, sir. It's not like there's much chance of a shootout in a space station."

"Good point. Then I am empowered to swear you in as a temporary agent of the FBI. Please raise your right, er, paw and repeat after me."

Sammy did so and recited the oath to perform his duty, uphold the law of the land and the Constitution of the United States, and to, basically, do the right thing.

Agent Scolder said, "Congratulations, Sammy, you are now an agent for the FBI. Here is your badge."

Agent Doug, Mr. Keith, Murphy and Max applauded as Scolder handed a silver shield to Sammy.

"OOF!!"

Sammy fell over. Murphy and Max, out of respect to their old friend, continued to applaud.

Murphy said, "You know, the RCMP had that problem, too, when they first hired ferrets as constables. They eventually made ferret-sized badges to replace the human ones."

Scolder was having difficulty keeping a straight face. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'd get you a smaller badge, but we didn't exactly have much time."

"I understand, sir." Sammy sat up and grunted as he hefted his new badge upright. "It's a pretty badge, though. Not to mention impressive at this size. Thank you."

"You're welcome. It shouldn't matter in zero-G."

Murphy was all business now. "Right. What are our instructions?"

"To begin with, we are not authorized to tell you what the charges are against Mr. Breedlove at this time. You will be given an envelope containing the warrants before the flight, and you will not open it until you are on the ISS and ready to arrest Mr. Breedlove."

Murphy shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see the point in the secrecy, but we can go along with it."

"We will also be keeping your role in this flight secret. The public will not know that ferrets are aboard beforehand. You will train in secret and avoid being seen and heard. The purpose of the secrecy is to make sure that Mr. Breedlove does not learn that someone is coming up to arrest him."

"That makes sense."

"The arrest and your participation in the flight will, of course, come out afterward, but we are still requiring that you and Sammy do not make any public statements about the arrest and the events of the flight after you return. Both the FBI and CBI have had our reputations sullied by `tell-all' books and interviews, and we want to prevent that this time."

Murphy thought about this for a moment. "I have reservations about restrictions like that. But I'm a policeman, and I can understand confidentiality. I can sympathize with your concerns as well."

"Fine. We have drawn up some papers for you and your partner to sign, agreeing to these conditions." He handed over some official- looking documents to Murphy and Sammy.

Murphy took several minutes reading the papers closely. He finally looked up and said, "I am known as a ferret of my word, sir. Sammy, Max, every single one of the Skippys – they'll all tell you that. When I say that I will not divulge a secret, I mean it. Getting me to sign a paper is not necessary."

"I appreciate that, but we would like to get this on record."

"Very well. I just thought that I'd tell you that." So Murphy and Sammy signed their copies of the agreement and gave them back to Scolder.

Murphy said, "All right, now that that's done, what's next?"

Keith spoke up. "Now I take over. The launch of Orion-7 is in six weeks, so we haven't much time. The two of you will travel with me down to Houston to meet the Orion-7 flight crew and for general orientation. You'll receive little training in spacecraft or station operations, as that's not considered too critical, but you will partake in some simulator training. You will also receive training in evacuation and survival in the event of a launch pad abort or an unplanned landing in a remote area. There will also be some physical training; we want to determine how well you can handle zero-G and high-G environments. How much do you two weigh, while we're on the subject?"

Sammy replied, "2.9 pounds for me. I've always been a slender guy."

Murphy said, "I weighed myself before I went into the Gym today." He sighed. "I weigh 3.8 pounds. I really need to lose some."

Max spoke up. "How high a G load will the Orion get to during launch?"

Keith replied, "At worst, 3.5 G. If things go wrong, it might actually get as high as five."

"Okay, let's say five, though that's not likely." Max began tapping some keys on the pawrest of his wheelchair. "So, at worst, Sammy will weight 14.5 pounds, and Murphy will get up to 19 pounds."

Murphy grumbled, "Don't rub it in."

"Sorry, Murph. My point is that ferrets' bodies won't feel much force under high-G conditions. I think they'll be fine on liftoff. It won't hurt to go through the test, though."

"Good. Okay, then, the plan is for you two to fly down to Houston tonight. Agent Doug and I and our partners will be with you throughout all of your training. Is there any problem with that?"

Murphy replied, "One thing – can Max come along with us for company?"

The federal agents were surprised at this, no less so than Max.

Sammy added, "He knows about this already. Won't it be easier to keep a lid on this if he's along?"

Scolder nodded. "That's a good point. Alright, Max comes along with us. Now, if that's all, we need to make some arrangements."

"And we need to pack. Come on, guys!"

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 4

The flight crew of Orion-7 met their passengers the next day at the Johnson Space Center, in a large room housing a full-scale mockup of the spacecraft. The six humans watched as three ferrets came into the room. Two were dressed in blue jumpsuits, and the third was in a wheelchair; all three wore blue baseball caps.

Sammy and Max were waxing enthusiastic about their new duds. Max said, "Man, those suits are neat! Just like the full-size ones with patches and pockets and everything!"

"Yeah, I know! These could come in handy! It's too bad you didn't get one, Max."

"Ah, I'm not much on jumpsuits. They're too difficult for me to get into. I do like getting the cap, though."

"Oh, yes, the cap is great! They've already put miniature mission patches on the caps and on the suits." He took his cap off and looked at the patch.

The Orion-7 mission patch was a nice one, showing the mythical figure Athena carrying a conical object, representing the Orion Command Module, into space in her hand. In the yellow border around the edge of the patch were the names PRUETT, DOUGHERTY, STONE, LLOYD, BERGSTROM and ITIYORSHU.

"Sammy said, "I really like it that they added Murphy's and my names to our patches. We don't dare show these to anybody before the flight, but it's nice that they did this."

"They did me one better." Max showed his cap to Sammy. In a yellow arc below the border with the astronaut's names, MURPHY, SAMMY and MAX had been stitched in.

"Oh, that is nice. It'll drive the mission patch collectors nuts, though. Hey, Murphy, are you all right?"

Murphy was walking along, thoughtfully looking at his cap. "H'm? Oh, I'm fine. I'm just thinking of something." He placed the cap on his head and rubbed the fabric of his jumpsuit between his fingers, but said nothing else.

With the three ferrets were the FBI and CBI agents. Charles Keith made the intros.

"Murphy, Sammy, Max, this is Jim Pruett – he's Commander of the Orion 7. Ted Dougherty, here, is the Command Module Pilot. These four are the rest of the Orion crew: Clayton Stone – Buzz Lloyd – the lady leaning out of the spacecraft hatch is Andie Bergstrom – Ikaru Itiyorshu. They'll rotate with the old Station crew. Guys, this is Constable Murphy, Sammy and their friend Max."

There were handshakes and pawshakes all around. Itiyorshu was particularly friendly. He bent down and shook hands with Sammy. "Howdy! Folks call me Bubba. Any of ya'll from Dixie, by any chance?"

"Ummm… I'm afraid not. Murphy's from Canada and Max and I are from Kansas."

Itiyorshu shrugged his shoulders. "So I gotta ride with three more Yankees. Ah, well, I can handle it. Nice to meet ya anyways!"

Sammy looked at Keith. The NASA rep said, "Itiyorshu's family immigrated to Alabama from Japan in the late 19th Century, and his ties to his home state are… strong."

Itiyorshu grinned. "Best state in the Union, Alabammy is."

Commander Pruett said, "I'd like to welcome you two to the crew." He stepped back and gestured. "And this is what our spacecraft looks like."

The space vehicle that had replaced the Shuttles was shaped like the old Apollo spacecraft, except that it was bigger. The conical Command Module was a little over 16 feet in diameter and 12 feet high. The main hatch on the side was open.

"Would you like to see the interior?"

Sammy said, "Certainly!" Ferrets have their pride, but they're also realists. Murphy and Sammy made no objections when Pruett picked them up and handed them to Bergstrom. Itiyorshu bent down to Max and said, "Would ya'll like some help?"

Max replied, "Please – I want to see, too!" Itiyorshu lifted him out of his wheelchair and passed him to Bergstrom.

The interior was roomy compared to the old Apollo craft, two and a half times the volume. A six-foot tall man could stand in the center of the interior space without bumping his head. On the "ceiling" was the glass-cockpit control panel. Just below this were suspended two reclining couches. Distributed around the "floor" of the mockup were four more couches.

Attached to one side of one of the couches were two more couches, miniature versions of the full-sized ones.

Bergstrom carefully placed Max in one of the human couches and said, "I'm gonna be in this couch here at launch, and you two guys will be strapped in next to me. We don't expect any problems, but if there are, I'll take charge of you two. I'd like to think that you'll be in good hands."

The three ferrets looked around the interior of the Orion. They marveled at how much room there was. There was enough space for six humans, so there was plenty of space for three ferrets. Their eyes kept coming back to the ferret-sized couches. Murphy seemed especially intrigued with those. He said, "I see you put a trough between the legrests – it's nice that you took our tails into consideration."

Bergstrom nodded. "Keep in mind that these seats are preliminary mockups. Your couches in the actual Orion are much better quality. We've got the bugs worked out by now.

"You're not going to have much in the way of controls with your seats. We've not got enough time before the launch to train you in spacecraft operations." She shrugged. "I don't get much in the way of controls myself."

Murphy nodded. "Understood."

Soon the three ferrets were handed back out and Keith continued briefing them.

"For most of the flight, the astronauts will be in their shirtsleeves, but for launch and landing, NASA policy is to have them wearing pressure suits. Now here -" He opened a box nearby and held up two orange objects. "– are your suits. You'll note here that we have an extra appendage attached to the back to accommodate your tails. Believe me, it was a bear to get those just right. The setup may not be completely comfortable, but hopefully you won't have to wear them for long. And we also have these for you." He held up two small white helmets with faceplates that bulged outwards for pointed snouts. "Any questions?"

Murphy held up a paw. "I have one. I know that this mission was unexpected and pushed your timetable up a bit, but when had NASA planned to launch its first ferret astronaut?"

Keith looked down at Murphy for a few moments before asking, "Was it obvious?"

Murphy smoothed down his jumpsuit. "Quite. These jumpsuits are very well-made. They definitely do not look like they were cobbled together overnight by some lady with a sewing machine. And quite a bit of planning went into those pressure suits and the acceleration couches. You'd been working on the designs and the hardware for some time – long before you'd heard of Sammy and me."

Keith nodded. "The schedule was two years from now. NASA's been impressed with what ferrets have been doing for some years and we'd decided there would be advantages in bringing them in as astronauts."

"Weight."

"For how long? Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, we were thinking of weight reduction. When you're looking at interplanetary travel, weight makes a lot of difference. When the first manned flight to Mars takes place, we figure half the crew might be ferrets."

Murphy nodded. "Well, well, the NASA brains may really be brainy."

"Mind you, none of this is set in stone."

"Well, it's the thought that counts. Okay, we've seen the spacecraft, we've met our crewmembers. What's next on the agenda?"

Commander Pruett replied, "Next, we'll see how you fuzzbutts can handle a reduced gravity situation. We'll be flying some parabolic maneuvers in the Skytrain." He smiled. "You're gonna get an E-Ticket ride on the Vomit Comet!"

--------------------------------------------

The C-9B Skytrain II took off from Ellington Field in the early morning hours and climbed to altitude some miles west of Houston. Aboard were some of the crew for Orion-7, along with their new furred crewmembers. It had been decided in some arcane fashion – Murphy thought that they'd drawn straws – that agents Bob and Moldy would go along, too.

The interior of the aircraft was one big empty space from front to aft, with plenty of padding on the walls and floor. Commander Pruett explained to Murphy and Sammy what was going to happen.

"Okay, the pilot of this machine will nose `er up and climb at a 45- degree angle, and when he rotates into a parabolic trajectory, we'll go into free fall. Then we'll have about 25 seconds of weightlessness before the plane loses too much altitude. It'll be pointing down then at an angle of 30 degrees, and the pilot will pull up again into a climb. We'll reach about 2 g's at the bottom before we can climb. Then we start it all over again. Now, do you weasels have any history of nausea?"

Murphy and Sammy thought about it, then shook their heads.

"Good then. Hang on, he's almost there… And here we go!!"

It felt to Sammy like he was falling, which, in a sense, he was. But nothing around him moved. It was a weird sensation.

Sammy held on to the wall. It was his first time in a situation like this, so he figured it was a good idea to go easy. So he carefully let go of the wall and concentrated on remaining in one place. It wasn't easy because a high-pitched voice shouted "WOO-HAA! CANNONBALL!"

He watched as a tiny Sable body shot across the interior. Murphy did a somersault in midair and kicked himself away from the opposite wall. He bounced off the other wall again and just had enough time to grab onto the ceiling before the aircraft came out of the parabola.

The human astronauts cheered and applauded as Murphy hung by one paw from the ceiling.

Murphy said nothing. He just looked at Sammy and smiled.

Sammy knew it was a challenge.

When they went freefall again, Sammy managed to bounce off the opposite wall once. He had just enough time to reach the other wall before gravity took over again, and he slid down the padding to the floor without injury.

Soon almost everyone got into the act. Both human and Mustelid astronauts perfected the art of moving around in zero-G, and they spent the all-too-short time bouncing around, performing complicated three-dimensional ballets and just generally messing about and having a terrific time.

The Vomit Comet flew parabolas for most of the morning, and finally touched down again at Ellington just before noon. Soon Murphy and Sammy were briskly walking down the hall, following by agent Bob and agent Moldy. The two agents weren't so enthusiastic.

Not surprisingly, Murphy was ecstatic. "Man, I tell you, that was fun! I could get used to that on a regular basis!"

Sammy replied, "I would suppose that you would take zero-G for granted if you live in it for months on end. But, yeah, it was fun! If nothing else, flying in the plane shows that you and I can take it. That's important to know."

Murphy nodded. "Yes, it is. Say, how did you two like –" He looked over his shoulder at the two humans, and he realized that only one human was there. "Say, where's Moldy?"

Sammy pointed at a nearby restroom. "I saw him go in there. I guess he had to call Ralph on the porcelain telephone."

"Oh." Murphy looked at Sammy. "Calling Ralph on the porcelain telephone, huh? That's a good one. Up in Canada the Inuit use a phrase that translates to `Singing to the Ground Spirits'."

"Oh, I like that one! But you got me curious, now, Murph. Do the Inuit have reason to use that phrase often?"

"It's not uncommon, especially in the early Spring, just before hunting season begins. They get down to the last of the Winter supply of seal blubber, and, after all that time and after all the better pieces have been picked over, what's left is pretty… well… less than fresh. But, you gotta eat what you have. So, yeah, they sing to the Ground Spirits fairly often."

It does nothing for the ferret's general opinion of humans to hear one of them whimper, but that's just what Bob did.

Murphy looked at him. "You okay? You look a little green. I guess not everyone can handle freefall. I can see why – it's an odd feeling to have your innards floating around inside of you like that. It almost feels like you're upside down."

Bob leaned against the wall and looked even greener.

"You probably won't feel much like lunch, then. Me, I'm hungry. I hear the cafeteria is having a special today on goulash –"

Murphy watched as Bob made a dash for the restroom.

Sammy frowned at Murphy. "You did that on purpose."

Murphy looked innocent, but his old friend knew him too well. Murphy said, "To tell you the truth, I'm getting tired of the Feds – Yanks and Canucks – breathing down our necks. I'll be glad when we do fly, if only because they won't be going with us."

"I can't disagree. Now that we do have some privacy, I wanted to talk to you about protocol. Now this Breedlove guy has warrants in both Canada and America, right?"

"So I understand. I wish they'd let us see the warrants."

"Me, too. Anyway, I was thinking about the two of us arresting him, and I have a suggestion for a compromise about how we go about it."

"A compromise? What do you have in mind?"

"You arrest him."

Murphy looked at his friend. "You really aren't cut out to be a law enforcement officer, are you?"

Sammy shook his head. "I won't deny it."

"All right, sounds like a good compromise to me. What say we don't tell the Feds? What they don't know won't hurt us."

At this point Ted Dougherty walked up to the two ferrets and cheerfully said, "Hey, guys! Where's your handlers?"

Murphy pointed at the restroom. "In there. You can use your own euphemism."

"Ah. I'm glad they didn't euphemise in the plane. But you guys did all right up there! From where I stand, you'll make great astronauts!"

Sammy said, "Thanks! Are we going back up there again today?"

Dougherty shook his head. "Afraid not. The plane's grounded this afternoon while they figure out why one of the engines is making funny noises. The grease monkeys assure us that it'll be okey-dokey for some more runs tomorrow morning, though."

Murphy replied, "Looking forward to it. We can find things to do this afternoon, can't we, Sammy? – Sammy?"

Sammy was lost in thought. After a few moments he said, "Murph… I was thinking. What about Max?"

"Max? He's okay, I think. He has to stay in the motel room by himself, but the cable setup isn't that bad. Room service is good, too."

"I know. But I feel bad about us going up in a few weeks and leaving him here on the ground."

"Sammy, I made the offer, and he said no. And he gave us some perfectly valid reasons why."

"Yes, he did. But, deep down, I know that he wants to go, and he would if he could. I'm thinking that we have the opportunity, right here, to give him the next best thing."

Murphy looked at Dougherty, and Dougherty looked at Murphy. They then looked at Sammy and nodded. Dougherty said, "I'll pick you guys up at the motel tomorrow. Let's bring him along."

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 5

"Max!"

"Wstfgl?"

"Hey, Max! Wake up!"

"Mph? Huh? Wha' timezit?"

"It's 6 AM! Ted and Andie are waiting downstairs to take us out to Ellington for some more zero-G stuff."

"Oh." Max smiled dreamily. "'T's nize. You guys `ve fun." He snuggled back down in his bed.

Sammy pulled off the covers while Murphy unfolded Max's wheelchair. Sammy said, "Come on, Mr. Sleepy Weasel. You're going with us!"

"Mph. Why'm I goin'?"

Sammy shook his head. That late-night Ed Wood marathon had been a bad idea. He sat Max up and said, "Because they tell us that there's room for one more ferret on the Vomit Comet." He began dragging Max over to the side of the bed.

It was while Sammy was ferrethandling him into his wheelchair that Max's eyes snapped open and he said, "Say WHAT?!"

Murphy steadied the wheelchair and leaned down to Max's ear. "You heard right, pal. You're getting your own E-Ticket ride today."

Sammy opened the door and Murphy briskly pushed the wheelchair into the hallway. It wasn't until they reached the elevator that Max could do anything more than sputter and grunt.

As they pushed into the elevator, Max managed to blurt out, "But – but I'm not going up with you guys! I won't go up!"

Sammy pushed the button and replied, "No, you're not. We understand why. But this is a perfect opportunity for you to at least get a taste of what it's like up there.'

Murphy said, "You'll get an idea of what you'll be missing."

Max said, "The Feds won't like this."

"The Feds aren't going with us this time," said Murphy. The elevator reached the first floor and the doors opened. "I called Moldy last night and asked him. He said they were going to sit this one out."

Sammy snickered. "That might be because you also asked him to recommend something for breakfast this morning."

"Yeah, there was that."

Ted Dougherty and Andie Bergstrom were sitting in the lobby and they stood up and smiled as the ferrets came out. Andie said, "Hi, Max! Ready for the roller coaster?"

Max couldn't say anything. She continued, "How about I carry you to the car?" Max nodded and she leaned down and picked him and his wheelchair up.

Ted said, "I've got breakfast in the car to eat on the way. I found a place nearby that caters to ferrets."

Sammy looked at him.

"And they do kosher."

Sammy smiled. "That's very considerate of you. Thank you kindly."

As they walked out to the car, Max said, "Why – why are you doing this?"

Ted looked back and said, "Because Murphy and Sammy are your friends."

Andie leaned over and said softly, "And we're your friends, too."

------------------------------------------

As the Skytrain climbed to altitude, Bubba Itiyorshu made sure that Max's wheelchair was securely fastened to the plane's floor, and Max's seatbelt was buckled. Max was nervous.

Murphy leaned over and patted Max's shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. Sammy and I had a great time. We'll look after you."

The plane's nose pointed upward and Andie said, "Not long now. Everybody hang on."

Max watched as everyone grabbed at the padding. Suddenly they all began to float and he felt the most peculiar sensation in his stomach. It was like he was falling, but he – wasn't.

He undid the belt on his wheelchair and gently pushed at the arms. He floated slowly upward.

Max smiled tentatively. This wasn't bad. Not at all.

Abruptly a human hand grabbed Max around the waist and he heard someone behind him shout, "YEE-HAA!" He quickly found himself rushing through the air toward Dougherty. Ted snatched him deftly from the air and threw him back to Bubba. The human caught Max just as gravity came back into their world. Murphy, Sammy and the other humans laughed and clapped as Bubba and Max looked at one another.

Then human and ferret threw their heads back and let out as fine a Rebel Yell as ever frightened a Yankee soldier.

------------------------------------------

The next several parabolic flights of the Vomit Comet witnessed the very first game of what Murphy, sensitive soul that he is, referred to as "Crippled Weasel Volleyball".

Max was tossed back and forth between the humans, and the freefall environment leant itself for some wonderful maneuvering. The humans could give Max some terrific spins as he sailed through the air. Everyone, including Max, was laughing like crazy.

Just before the ninth parabola, Itiyorshu was holding Max. The ferret looked up and said quietly, "This time, just give me a little push. I don't want to go too fast."

Bubba frowned. "Are you sure, li'l buddy? Don't want to give you no trouble."

"Go ahead. I want to try something."

Bubba shrugged. When the airplane went into zero-G, he gave Max a slight shove. As the ferret moved slowly forward, he began to make stroking motions with his arms.

Ted look worried. "Max, what's going on?"

Max replied, "I want to see how fast I can move on my own." He began to frantically swim for the side wall.

Murphy said, "You're running out of time, Max!"

"I can make it!" Max was thrashing through the air, and he was making good time.

Then he tumbled over and hit the wall with his shoulder. He bounced off, out of control, and flew up to the ceiling.

"Somebody better help –"

Then the plane came out of freefall.

Under 2 G's, Max fell hard to the floor.

Sammy rushed forward. "Max! Max, are you all – Oh, no."

Sammy stared down at one of Max's legs, which was twisted in an unnatural angle.

Max mumbled, "I think – I think it's broken."

------------------------------------------

The Skippys take comic strips very seriously. Many of them are of the opinion that the Comics section is the most worthwhile part of a newspaper; the rest consider it to be the only worthwhile thing.

The Library in the Skippy Compound is, of course, well-stocked, especially with comic strip reprints and collections, some privately printed by the Skippys themselves. The library also subscribes to several national and international newspapers, all with solid Comics sections. The Skippys' business savvy is world-renown, but the Library has never carried subscriptions to the Wall Street Journal or the New York Times, simply because neither one carries comic strips. The Subscription departments of both newspapers, fully aware of the Skippys' reputation in the business world, will frequently call the Compound to try and talk them into buying a subscription. The Skippys invariably refuse and they will always explain their reason why. Any Subscription representative who dares to downplay the importance of comic strips will quickly find themselves listening to a particularly annoying dial tone. Any rep with the gall to try calling back will be greeted with the sound of a ferret Raspberry. Followed by the dial tone.

Sammy looked out the patio doors of the motel room at the Sunday morning sunrise. At this time of year, Houston mornings were chilly; it was nothing uncomfortable for someone with a built-in fur coat.

Max was sitting on the patio in his wheelchair; one of the leg supports was set in an upright position to prop up the cast. On the patio table was a pot full of Ferretone tea, with two cups, and the Sunday edition of the Houston Chronicle.

Max had a ritual with the Sunday newspaper. He'd start by removing all of the advertisement junk, no matter how cleverly they were hidden, and set them aside for others; the Skippys were fiends about clipping coupons. Then Max would separate the weekly magazine, the TV guide and the Comics section from the main body of the paper. After that, he was ready to begin reading.

Max would start by scanning through the different sections of the newspaper, stopping to read anything that interested him; some sections he would ignore altogether. He would then scan the magazine. Finally, Max would tackle the Comics section in some detail; he considered the comic strips dessert.

Sammy opened the sliding door and stepped out on the patio. If Max had wanted to be alone, he would have had only one cup with the teapot.

Max looked up. "Morning."

Sammy replied, "Hi. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all. Pour yourself some tea. I'm done with most of the paper."

Max still had the TV section. Normally he didn't pay much attention to the TV listings, but the Chronicle's TV section had several puzzles. Max had already filled out the Word Jumble and Cryptoquip and was halfway through a particularly large crossword.

"What's the Comics section like?"

"Not bad. You still need a magnifying glass to read them, but they've got a pretty good selection. They're still rerunning Peanuts. They've even got thingy Tracy."

"Sounds good." Sammy poured some Ferretone tea and sat down to peruse the comics. He was a firm believer that life was too short to not eat your dessert first.

The two ferrets sat together and said nothing for several minutes, relaxing in the mutual company.

Finally Max finished the crossword and set the TV guide aside. He sat for a few moments, gazing thoughtfully at his cast, before he spoke.

"I talked to the Head Skippy on the phone last night. The Physical Therapist Skippy is flying down here to give my leg some PT. He'll be with us from now on."

Sammy took this as a signal and set the paper down. He said, "That's good. I was worried how well it would knit with your paralysis."

"Oh, it'll be fine; Skippy's good. He's been able to keep these legs from going all atrophy on me." Max smiled. "Every once in awhile, the Skippys design a new wheelchair for me, did you know that? This one is pretty good as it is, what with the calculator built into the armrest. The Skippys have talked about putting a wi-fi setup in it. That and motorizing it, but I've never been much for those things." Max chuckled. "Sometimes the Head Skippy even talks about anti- gravity technology and making me a floating chair. She's joking, of course. At least I think she is."

Max paused for a moment, then went on softly. "There was another reason why I declined to go up to the ISS, but I didn't think much of it, so I didn't mention it.

"After the flight on the Skytrain, I'm sure now that I'd have trouble getting around in zero-G. But, as you said, Sammy, I could learn how to get around. And I'd certainly learn to enjoy it.

"I'd probably enjoy it so much that I won't want to come back down. And that's the problem."

Max sighed. "How long will you guys be up there, a week and a half? When it came time to leave the Station, I'd just be getting comfortable with zero-G, and I'd be sure to put up a fuss about leaving. NASA would order me to come back, and maybe they'd get me to. In some wholly improbable fit of compassion, the NASA brass might even let me stay. But what then? It would only put it off until the next crew rotation, maybe six months or so. And I'd be so settled in by then that I'd put up even more of a fuss.

"Nobody stays on the space station forever. And they shouldn't. You know how bad bone calcium loss is over the long term in a weightless environment. And a person's muscles deteriorate, no matter how much exercise they get. After so long, a person might not be able to come back to one-G without serious health risks; it might even be fatal. Zero-G would be a prison, and they'd be living a life sentence.

"Sammy, Murphy was offering me a drug."

The two ferrets sat for a long time and said nothing.

Finally Sammy said, "Max, I'm sorry. Murphy and I meant no harm. We thought that we were giving you a little bit of enjoyment. And a little bit of freedom."

"I know. I know Bubba feels real bad about it, too. I keep telling him that it was my idea.

"I'll be fine, Sammy. I'm pretty down right now, but that's understandable. This was a learning experience for me, and I'll be fine. And, Sammy, one more thing?"

"What's that?"

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I really, truly enjoyed the taste I had of freefall. Of freedom. I'll treasure it for all time."

Max smiled. "Thanks for being such good friends."

Sammy smiled back. He leaned over the table and they clasped paws.

Max leaned back. "So, what's next on the agenda?"

"We start simulator training with the rest of the crew. Murphy left early this morning for a conference with the FBI folks. We'll meet with them again tomorrow."

"When do you leave for the Cape?"

"Three weeks. That'll be a week before the launch."

"I'm sure the Skippys will have a major contingent on the beach to watch. They hold pretty strong opinions about NASA Management, but first and always they're space geeks." Max looked at his cast. "I'm sure my leg will heal enough by then for me to travel."

Sammy frowned. "Are you sure you'll want to go all the way to Florida? After – well, after what happened, do you want to get involved any more?"

Max gave Sammy a steady look. "Old friend, I want to go very much. I want to see you two start the journey of a lifetime. It will mean so much to us all."

Max grinned. "We're a team, remember?"

------------------------------------------

Murphy and Sammy watched the video playing on the big screen. It was a recording of a news conference with the current ISS crew that had been held about two months previously.

The six members of the station crew were huddled more or less closely together in the Harmony module, smiling and waving at the camera the way you'd expect astronauts to be while in the public eye. The lone exception was a burly man near the back with a lion's mane of red hair and beard. He wasn't smiling at all. He'd stare at the camera and listen to the questions piped up from Earth, but most of the time he looked bored and distracted.

Murphy said, "The way Breedlove's eyes keep wandering off to the left – I presume that's where his hydroponics experiments are?"

"Yes, they're in the Destiny Lab." Charles Keith, the NASA rep, was there in the conference room with the American and Canadian Federal agents and the two ferrets.

Sammy said, "You said he was doing well with his experiments. I suppose that's some consolation."

"Not much. He's good with the plants, but that all he does up there, pretty much. He's basically taken over the Destiny Lab and he growls at anyone that trespasses; he won't even let any cameras in there. When a Progress ship comes up with fresh supplies, it's like pulling teeth to get him to help, and then he gripes about wasting his time. He never eats in the dining room, either. He just heats up his meals and eats in the Lab. We don't think he's hiding anything. He just doesn't care."

They listened as Ground Control relayed up a question from a German reporter. Commander Fleming answered it, and in the background Breedlove snorted and rolled his eyes.

Sammy said, "Now he's just not being nice. That was a pretty good question."

Murphy pointed. "What in the world is that thing in the background?"

Keith replied, "That's a SPHERES."

"I can see that it's a sphere, and you're using bad grammar."

"No, no, SPHERES. A "Synchronized Position Hold, Engage, Reorient Experimental Satellite". It's a miniaturized satellite testbed developed by MIT. We started using some of them on the ISS a few years back to test out formation flying and rendezvous and docking procedures. Now we use them for communication and remote camera work on the station."

"I see. What does it use to move around?"

"Compressed-air jets for movement and station-keeping."

"Uh-huh. Okay, to get back to the original subject, I think we get the point. This Breedlove fellow isn't very sociable."

"That's putting it mildly."

Moldy spoke up. "That might work in your favor. He obviously isn't going to go meet the visitors when your ship docks. You'll have to go looking for him. That will give you an advantage."

Murphy said, "I can see a greater advantage. He doesn't look like the athletic type. He might not put up much of a fight." Moldy nodded.

Murphy stood up. "Okay, then, I guess we've learned all we need from this. Shall we move on?"

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 6

"Orion, this is Launch Control. Coming up on the one-minute mark. Mark! One minute until launch."

Commander Pruett pressed the Comm button. "Roger, Ground, one minute until launch. All systems go."

Next to Pruett, Dougherty was strapped snugly in his seat. Behind them, Stone, Lloyd, Bergstrom and Itiyorshu were strapped in as well. Next to Bergstrom, two small figures were dressed in their own flight suits and strapped into their own little seats.

Dougherty flipped on his Comm. "Ground, this is Ted. We're getting some funny readings here in the hydraulics."

Abruptly the Orion's cabin was filled with a loud hissing, just as the radio crackled into life. A voice said urgently, "Orion, we have observed a fire at the base of the Ares I rocket! Repeat, a fire has started at the base of your rocket!

"Orion, please acknowledge!"

Stone replied, "Ground, this is Orion! We've sprung a leak up here, and the upper portion of the cabin is filling with some sort of gas! No response from Pruett or Dougherty! Presume they are unconscious!"

"Orion, fire is spreading rapidly! Initiate abort system! Punch OUT of there, guys!"

It was time to escape, but the abort controls were up by Pruett's and Dougherty's couches. As Lloyd fumbled with his harness, a small orange figure shot straight up from nearby, heading for Pruett's couch above. Lloyd watched as a tiny paw slammed down on a red button on the control panel.

Within a few moments, a voice came over the radio. "Be advised that the Orion's Launch Abort motor was successfully triggered, and the abort rocket has pulled the Command Module away from the burning rocket. The Ares I rocket has exploded, but the Command Module has flown out of range."

"Simulator Control, this is Commander Pruett. I'm unconscious, but it sure beats the alternative."

"Doggone, and here we thought we'd thrown a real clinker at you this time! How'd you manage to make your hairbreadth escape?"

Pruett looked at Murphy, who was sitting on the edge of his couch trying not to look smug. Pruett smiled and replied, "I'll say this much – some crewmembers here can really jump!"

-------------------------------------------------

The Head Skippy looked out over the factory floor from the picture window of her office. Things were going smoothly, which was merely what she expected from her crew. The X-15 skinning was almost done, they were attaching the vertical tail to the B-17, and the finishing touches were being added to the hardpoints on top of the 747. The canvas was off of Project O, and that was starting to take shape. She looked down at the Project O timeline laid out on her desk; it even looked like they were running a little bit ahead of schedule. Nice.

The office door opened and her Second in Command came in. "Hey, boss! Got another package from Max!" He held up a large express mail envelope. It was open and a sheaf of papers stuck out.

Head Skippy nodded. "More NASA tech publications and PR handouts? Anything we can use?"

"I've gone over `em. Not much. They're catching up on some things and aren't quite going down so many dead ends as they used to."

"Uncommonly good for them." She took the papers from Second-in- Command Skippy and began leafing through them.

"Yeah, but they're still way behind us, poor guys."

"How's Max doing?"

"He says his leg is healing nicely. Poor guy, having that happen to him. They'll be flying out to the Cape day after tomorrow."

"Our guys will be heading out there in a few days for the fireworks, right? Maybe he can hook up with them there."

"Maybe. He says NASA's got him a pass to the VIP area for the launch, but there's no reason he has to stay there. I'm meeting a friend in the astronaut corps while we're down there and maybe he can take me to see Max."

The Head Skippy had quit flipping through the papers and was studying one in particular.

"What, you find something interesting?" He looked over his boss' shoulder. "Huh. That's the SPHERES thing they've got up there. Think there's something there that's worth focusing on?"

The Head Skippy looked at the compressed-air reaction control nozzles on the metal ball. "H'm. Maybe. I'm getting some ideas."

-------------------------------------------------

It was one thing to look over the mockup. It was another to actually see the craft that they would ride into orbit in only six days.

Sammy couldn't really see much of the Orion-7 vehicle itself. The "White Room" at the end of the Orbiter Access Arm was fitted snugly up against the spacecraft, with only the crew entrance hatch accessible. He knew that the base of the launch pad was about 270 feet below them. He'd seen the entire Ares 1 rocket in all its glory earlier. The first stage, based on the old Shuttle solid-rocket boosters, was smaller in diameter than the liquid-fuel second stage; it had given the whole rocket a top-heavy look that Sammy hoped wouldn't cause a problem later; the people in charge didn't seem to be worried.

Still, they hadn't scrimped on escape plans. Sammy knew that the launch escape tower alone, perched above them on the Command Module, was more powerful than the old Atlas orbital booster. He and Murphy had been told – time and again – that an explosion on the pad was unlikely, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Sammy appreciated the logic.

The entrance hatch was open now, as was the corresponding hatch in the conical shroud that covered the Command Module until the escape tower was, hopefully, jettisoned. Murphy and Sammy were leaning in now and inspecting the interior. They paid particular attention to the two miniature couches that were attached to one of the human- size couches.

Commander Pruett leaned forward and asked, "Well, does it meet with your approval?"

Murphy replied, "I'm not too happy with the color, but I guess it's too late to do anything about that."

"I'm afraid it is."

Sammy didn't care about the colors of the couches one way or another. They'd been especially designed for a creature with a curved spine, with a deep well in the center. As with the preliminary mockup, there was a trough in the lower part between the legrests for the tail.

Sammy didn't notice any differences between the two couches, but he knew that they weren't shaped exactly alike. Measurements had been taken of both his and Murphy's bodies, and the contours of the two couches had been shaped to fit. The two couches were installed one above the other; Murphy's was the upper one. Breedlove would be using the human couch on the way back to Earth, and it was thought advisable to place Murphy, the arresting officer, next to his head. Sammy didn't see what a little ferret could do against a heavy-set human in Aggressive mode, but one never knew.

Murphy looked over his shoulder and asked, "What will we be doing over the next few days?"

Pruett replied, "We'll be sitting in here for a few comm-link checks, but nothing much more than that. The docs will do a few physical checkups on us, but I think we're pretty much gonna be waiting. We're all going into quarantine tomorrow night."

"What's the word on the weather?"

"Meteoroligists say things look fine for a launch, but that can change, of course. We'll just wait and see."

"Yeah." Murphy looked around the interior of their spacecraft. "We'll wait and see."

-------------------------------------------------

Murphy leaned back in his chair and sipped some Ferretone tea. The view from the terrace was a splendid panorama of the motel parking lot and, beyond that, a whole block of Cocoa Beach motels.

Their motel actually had a little something extra that its neighbors lacked. Specifically, it was the representation of a satellite on a pole above the motel sign. It was a relic of the early 60's, when just about all of this part of Florida was space-mad. This had been the Orbit Inn back then, and the fake satellite had been a bright rotating blue ball, with about a dozen neon tubes of various lengths protruding from the surface, blinking on and off in various colors. It had been a landmark of sorts, and just about every documentary about the space program's impact on the area had a shot of the neon- lit satellite.

The motel had changed hands several times over the years, and the blue satellite was still there. It no longer rtoated, but aome of the neon tubes were still there and two of them could still light up. The current manager, who hadn't even been born when man had last walked on the Moon, turned out to have a deep sense of history and had made it a special project to restore the blue satellite to its former blinking-neon glory, as a way to "preserve local culture". He'd put a glass contribution jar in the lobby for customers to help with the restoration cost. Murphy had sent a letter to the Skippys about the restoration project, and he had no doubt that the manager was going to get a pleasant surprise.

Max set down his own cup of Ferretone tea and asked, "You guys about ready for this?"

Sammy replied, "More than ready. The CBI and FBI guys gave us yet another briefing this afternoon. They laid out the ground rules again. Stay out of camera view, don't use the radios, that sort of thing. We're supposed to keep our presence on the flight secret – at least until we've arrested Breedlove."

"Yeah, you'll both be the most famous ferrets in the world after that."

"Really. But we still won't be able to talk about the details after that. The Feds were very clear on that. Especially the American guys."

Max shook his head. "Now that's verging on paranoia. You ask me, those guys need counseling."

"Oh, you have no idea. Just the other day I turned on the local Public radio station to listen to some jazz, and when `Take the "A" Train' came on, Moldy just about went ballistic. I mean, what's up with that?"

"One of those mysteries of life, I guess. What do you think, Murph?

"Murphy?"

Murphy was leaning back and gazing up into the night sky. After a few moments he said, "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just looking at the stars."

Max and Sammy looked up. This part of the Florida coast was awash with light pollution from myriads of flashy neon signs and all-night businesses. They looked at each other and then at Murphy. Sammy said, "Just what have you put in your tea?"

Murphy chuckled. "I'm just exercising my mind's eye, guys.

"When I was a kit growing up in the Northwest Territories, I was pretty much on my own. Dad was always off doing Mountie things – tracking down poachers, rescuing clueless tourists, bringing home Inuits after a bender, that sort of thing – and I kept myself entertained with the local library. My favorite library had a lot of books on space exploration and I just devoured them. It also had a ton of NASA documentaries on tape that I'd watch over and over. Whenever there was a Shuttle launch, I'd work for hours on the TV antenna until we got a halfway decent picture. Just so I could watch the rockets.

"And when night came – we didn't have the light pollution the States have. I'd go out into the woods and just lie back and look at the night sky.

"So, yeah, I'm looking at the stars."

Murphy sipped his tea and looked at Sammy. "Old friend, do you realize what we're going to do?"

Sammy replied, "We'll be traveling to the Space Station to take a criminal into custody. But that's not what you mean, is it?"

"No, it isn't. Forgive the split infinitive, but in a few days we're going to boldly go where no ferret has gone before."

"Leave it to a Canadian to be concerned with split infinitives."

"Thank you. But think about it. We're actually going to travel into space. We'll be taking the first ferrety steps into orbit. There'll be others after us. I believe – I know - that someday one of our furry brethren will travel to the Moon, to the planets – maybe even to those little points of light that we can't see from here. But for now, it's just you and me, and in a few days we'll be making a tremendous step forward for ferrets. Think of that."

Sammy said, softly, "I know. I've been thinking about that. My Papa is a space geek, too. That might be why he likes you so much, Murph. They've got Digital Cable back in Wichita, and Papa loves to watch NASA TV, especially when there's a launch. Our secret will be out after we get up there, and he will be so surprised. And I think he'll be proud."

Murphy nodded. "Not like he hasn't got reason enough to be proud of his son."

Murphy and Sammy sat there, lost in thought. Then the same thought occurred to them and they looked over at their companion. Max, sitting in his wheelchair with his leg in a cast, was looking down into his teacup.

Murphy leaned over and said, "Max, I'm terribly sorry that you won't be going with us."

Max looked up. "I know. But it wouldn't have been a good idea. And it's too late now, anyway." He sighed. "But I do so much wish I could go with you."

Sammy said, "Maybe someday you'll get your turn."

Max chuckled. "Yeah, right." He placed his cup down on the patio table. "But I will tell you this, silly though it sounds – I will be with you up there in spirit."

Sammy smiled. "Of course you will. That's because we're a team." He held his paw out.

Max leaned forward and placed his paw on Sammy's, and Murphy leaned forward and placed his paw over theirs.

-------------------------------------------------

"This is Orion Launch Control, coming up on the T-minus Three Hours mark and counting for the launch of Orion 7. Orion's crew have finished the traditional launch breakfast of steak and eggs and are in the process of donning the pressure suits that they are required to wear during the launch phase of their journey. The crew are all in good spirits and looking forward to the upcoming flight.

"Launch Controllers report that the Orion spacecraft and Ares rocket are ready for flight, with no apparent problems. Meteorologists have been monitoring the weather. There are lightly scattered clouds and light winds, well within launch parameters. There is no adverse weather in the forecast.

"Launch control reports that all systems are go for the launch of Orion 7. T-minus Two Hours, Fifty-Seven minutes and counting."

Dawn was still a couple of hours away, but the VIP viewing stand was already full of people. Some talked among themselves, but their attention was mainly focused on the Ares rocket, a little over three miles away on Pad 39B, gleaming in the searchlights.

Nobody paid much attention to the Sable ferret in a wheelchair.

Max was bored and a little depressed. Murphy and Sammy had been woken hours before in their motel by NASA people and by the Feds. Max had joined his friends in their own steak-and-eggs breakfast, catered by Room Service. Then they'd all traveled in an unmarked car to the Cape.

In order to remain incognito, Murphy and Sammy were to be at the launch pad early, before the rest of their crewmates got there under the usual glare of the cameras. Max was dropped at the VIP area with a NASA go-fer, who immediately had to go off to fawn over some human bigwig, and Max hadn't seen him since.

Max looked at the rocket on the pad. Murphy and Sammy were already there by now in the White Room. From what Max had heard, it had been decreed that the White Room videocam was going to experience technical glitches so that it would be on long enough to show the human astronauts boarding, but not the ferrets.

The launch looked like it was going fine, and in a little over two and a half hours, the rocket would roar into the sky. Until then…

"Hey, Max!" A paw touched his shoulder.

Max looked around and smiled at a familiar face. "Skippy! Good to see ya! How ya doing?"

"Just fine, buddy. I want you to meet a friend of mine. Bud, this is Max. Max, this is Bud Williams. He's part of the astronaut corps."

A young human with receding hair and a friendly smile bent down and shook Max's paw. "Hi, there, fella. Nice to meet you." Bud looked at the cast. "How's your leg healing?"

Max replied, "Oh, going pretty well. PT helps. I'll be wearing this for a few more weeks." He patted the cast. "Not much room for autographs, but I'm getting plenty of initials."

Bud nodded and looked over at the distant launch pad. "So, how do you like it here in the VIP area?"

"Well… it's kind of lonely, really. It's nice to have someone to talk to for a little bit. Have the Skippys got the usual setup on the beach?"

Skippy replied, "Most of us, yeah. But some of us will be watching someplace else with Bud and a couple of other humans. As a matter of fact, that's why Bud and I are here. We wanted to ask if you'd like to join us."

"Oh, that's nice of you. Where is this place you're gonna be?"

Bud looked vague. "Oh… let's say it's gonna be closer to the pad than here."

Max looked confused. "Closer? But you can't get much closer than this! Regulations don't let people closer than three miles to the pad during a launch!"

Bud and Skippy looked at each other. Bud looked back at Max with a peculiar smile and said, "So, what's your point?"

Max looked up at the human for a long time before he finally said, "Lead the way, then."

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 7

"This is Orion Launch Control coming up on T-minus one hour and forty-five minutes. The weather continues to look favorable for today's scheduled launch of Orion 7. The crew has arrived at the pad and are in the process of climbing aboard the spacecraft. The White Room camera system is currently functional, but transmission continues to be intermittent. Astronaut Itiyorshu is shown waving at the camera before he enters the spacecraft. Commander Pruett and pilot Dougherty will be the last ones to board.

"We have just lost transmission from the camera, but we continue to have radio contact with the White Room, and they assure us that there are no other problems with the boarding process. This is Launch Control at T-minus one hour and thirty-five minutes and counting."

After the technician switched off the camera, two ferrets dressed in pressure suits and carrying helmets stepped forward from the alcove. A technician bent down and asked, "So, who wants to go first?"

Sammy replied, "I guess I will," and placed his white helmet over his head. The technician then picked him up and handed him in through the open hatch.

"Constable Murphy?"

Murphy turned around to see a human that he hadn't noticed before, dressed in the usual white smock and booties favored by launch pad personnel.

"I'm agent Erskine of the FBI." Erskine stepped forward. "I've been authorized by agents Moldy and Scolder to deliver this to you." He held out a manila envelope. "This contains the arrest warrants for Garrett Breedlove."

"I was wondering when I'd get those. This is cutting it rather fine." He reached up and took the envelope, which was almost as big as he was.

"Moldy wanted me to remind you that you're not to open this envelope until you're actually in Breedlove's presence."

Murphy rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. He keeps bugging me about that and I keep telling him that I keep my promises. I'm surprised he's not here to breathe down my neck."

"He's at the Johnson Space Center in Houston with Scolder and the Canadians; they'll be monitoring the flight from Mission Control. You'll have to be satisfied with my breathing down your neck."

"I'll get by." Murphy pointed over his shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a ride to catch."

"I understand. Good luck." Erskine bent down to shake Murphy's paw.

"Thank you kindly." Murphy donned his helmet and the technician picked him up.

Murphy was handed through the spacecraft hatch to a technician inside. The six human astronauts were already strapped in, as was Sammy. Another technician was standing in the upper part of the cabin, making some last-minute adjustments to Dougherty's harness.

While the technician held him, Murphy waved the envelope around. "Hey, could somebody put this in a glove compartment or something? It's kind of important."

Clayton Stone held out his hand. "I'll take that, Murphy. There's a storage locker here we can use." Stone took the envelope and opened a door next to his couch. "This is where we store equipment for our EVA suits, when we got some. Gloves and stuff."

Itiyorshu said, "Murph, I'll bet you're achin' to open that envelope."

Murphy replied, "Oh, of course!"

"But you're not gonna do it, are ya?"

"No, I'm not."

Buzz Lloyd chuckled. "Hey, I just thought of something, Clay! You really did put it in the glove compartment!" Everyone laughed; it was one of those tension-breaking moments that are so important at times like this.

The technician began to carry Murphy over to his couch. He passed directly over Sammy, who was snugly strapped down.

"Murphy?"

Murphy said to the technician, "Hang on a sec." He reached down as Sammy reached up.

The two ferrets clasped paws for a brief moment and said nothing. Then the technician strapped Murphy in his couch.

When that was done, Murphy looked over at Andie Bergstrom. He smiled and said, "Hi, lady."

She smiled back. "Hi, there, handsome. You come here very often?"

"Naw, this is my first time. Seems like a nice place."

The two technicians finished up some last-minute adjustments and checks, then stepped out through the hatchway. The hatch was swung shut and the astronauts listened to the thumps and clunks as it was locked. After that, they heard very little noise from outside. There was the sound of switches and radio traffic inside the cabin, but that was about it. The external shroud covered the windows, so the only light was from the cabin's fluorescent lights.

Lloyd said, "Quiet in here."

Commander Pruett said, "Yes, it is. Say, Murphy?"

"Yes, sir?"

"That old joke about Guenter Wendt? You know the one. It's been done to death. Please don't make it."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

"Boy, Murphy, he sure has your number!"

"Thank you for your input, Sammy."

--------------------------------------------

There was so much vehicle traffic to and from Pad 39B in the final hours of the launch that it was difficult to keep track of it all. So, when one car drove off along one of the numerous access roads, no one paid attention, just like they hadn't when a van had driven the same way earlier. And no one noticed when neither one came back.

Max stared open-mouthed at the 39B launch tower, with the Ares I rocket attached to it with a few umbilical lines and access arms. He could see things much more clearly at the launch pad, because he closer now. A lot closer.

"One mile?" He turned to the others. "We're only one mile from the launch pad?!"

Bud Williams grinned at him. "Yep. Still pretty far away. We'll see that candle lighting up about five seconds before we hear it. It'll get noisy then. If it weren't for the noise suppression system, we'd really get a blast! But we've still got the best seats in the house!"

They were located right in front of a small storage building. Besides Williams, there were two other humans, as well as a dozen Skippys, running around. Some were focusing binoculars on the launch pad. One of the humans and three of the Skippys were shutterbugs and were setting up some impressive-looking camera equipment, including a videocam, when they weren't having earnest discussions about f- stops, focal length, film speed and other photo-geek stuff. Williams and a couple of the Skippys were working over a nice portable barbecue and setting up condiments and human- and ferret-sized picnic supplies.

"Uh… yeah. I can see that. Very nice view. But aren't we violating safety regulations by being this close?"

Williams looked shocked. "Surely you don't think that we'd willingly violate regulations? And risk the noble reputation of the astronaut corps? For shame!"

"Oh, well, my deepest apologies. I've read The Right Stuff and I guess I got the wrong impression."

"And besides, if anyone had ever done something against safety regs – like, say, sneaking up to within a mile of the launch pad – you would have heard about it, right?"

"Well… of course I haven't. That would imply that the astronaut corps is an insular group that was real good about keeping secrets. That's not the case, now, is it?"

Williams turned over a steak. "Oh, my, no. Salt of the Earth, we are!"

"Okay, here's something else, then. Are we safe here?"

Williams looked at the launch pad. "That's a good question – one of those we prefer to ignore. If something does happen to the rocket… well, no manned rocket has ever exploded here at the Cape, yet. We prefer going with those odds."

"But some rockets have exploded, right?"

"Unmanned ones, yes. But who would want to sneak up close to an unmanned launch?"

Max couldn't think of a good counterargument to that.

Williams suddenly turned serious. "Max, it's always possible that something might happen today. If you don't want to, you don't have to stay; I can always take you back. What do you want to do?"

Max looked at the rocket on the launch pad. Murphy and Sammy were already buttoned in by now. If he couldn't actually be with them, he could at least be close when they left.

He shook his head. "I'll stay. If something happens to me, chances are something will happen to my friends." He looked at Williams. "Thank you so much for giving me this opportunity."

Max looked around the location. "You've got a good spot, here. Is it used very often for… this sort of thing?"

Williams looked innocent. "Couldn't tell ya. But it is a pretty good spot. The storage shed hides us from the Launch Control Center and any prying cameras. And this is a good location with respect to the launch." He pointed at the pad. "See that curved thing under the rocket?"

"Yeah, that's the flame bucket, right?"

"Yep, it deflects the rocket flames to either side so the pad doesn't get damaged. From where we are now, the flames will go that way –" He pointed to the left. "- and that way." He pointed to the right. "They won't come in this direction."

"I think I like it that way."

"Thought you would. Now, for a really important question – how do you like your steak cooked?"

"Medium rare, if you please."

--------------------------------------------

This is Orion Launch Control. The countdown clock is at T-minus nine minutes and holding. We are nearing the end of the final built- in hold in the countdown. Launch Control has used this hold for a final readiness check of the Ares I rocket and the Orion 7 spacecraft systems. No indications of problems have been found in the spacecraft or rocket. The weather continues to be favorable for a launch this morning. The Launch Director has polled his controllers and they all report positive indications. The Launch Director at this time has given a `Go' for the launch of Orion 7.

"We are coming up on the end of the planned hold…

"Mark! T-minus nine minutes and counting until the launch of Orion 7!"

Max chewed on his second piece of Bud's excellent barbecued steak and kept his eyes on the launch pad.

As he watched, the access arm with the White Room slowly swung away from the spacecraft. There was an air of finality to this. The White Room could swing back in seconds if necessary, but it looked like the crew was on its own. In a way, it was.

After the access arm was moved away, there wouldn't be much left to see until about fifteen seconds before launch, when the sound suppression system would flood the pad with tons of cascading water, to cut down the sound energy from the rocket engine.

The Ares I rocket looked so small, comparing to the launch tower. There were clamps holding the rocket to the pad, but it looked like a good stiff breeze could knock it over.

Max and his companions were joined by an uninvited visitor. A whooping crane came to a landing only a few hundred yards away. The four shutterbugs immediately turned on their cameras and got off a few shots of the crane, who looked back at the humans and ferrets with bored disinterest.

The more Max thought about it, the more a wildlife sanctuary at Cape Canaveral made sense. A launch facility would, for obvious reasons, consist of wide open spaces and very little urban buildup. It was highly unlikely that a flock of birds would be confronted by hunters here, although Max thought that humans were crazy enough to try anything. All in all, except for the occasional loud noises, this seemed like a perfect spot for feathered folk to kick back and relax. The whooping crane started squawking; perhaps he read Max's mind.

One of the Skippys was following Launch Control announcements over his earphones, and he said, "One minute mark."

Everyone's attention focused on the launch pad. The one human and three Skippys primed their cameras and the single vidcam, and the rest were sitting in chairs. The ferrets sat in front, and Max's wheelchair was in the middle.

Max wondered what Murphy and Sammy were thinking right then. Murphy could be a goof, but he was smart enough to know when to be serious, and right now he was probably thinking of the job ahead. And deep down in his heart – who could know?

Sammy was probably praying, as you'd expect from a Rabbi. And he was probably silently asking the spirit of his Grandpapa Levi to watch over them all. It didn't hurt to ask for as much support as you could get.

The base of the launch pad erupted in cascades of water as the sound suppression system kicked in. Grandpapa Levi, please see the crew and my friends safe.

A bright flame shot from the rocket nozzle and was deflected to both sides, and steam and smoke billowed up from the pad. The Ares I rocket immediately began to rise in the air. And it made no sound. All that could be heard was the squawking of the crane.

Max just had time to say, "Weird –"

Then God starting shouting at him, and, boy, was He ever upset about something!

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 8

When the countdown reached zero, Sammy was quickly reminded of the last time he'd flown on an airliner. Specifically, he remembered the little brat sitting behind him who had delighted in kicking the back of his seat. Because just now somebody kicked the back of his seat a good one.

Somewhere above him, Commander Pruett said into his radio, "Roger, liftoff and the clock has started!"

Almost immediately an invisible ferret came out of nowhere and sat on Sammy's chest; that wasn't like flying on the airliner.

A few seconds later, a voice came over the radio. "Orion, this is Mission Control in Houston, you have cleared the tower and we have taken over control of this flight."

"Roger, Houston, tower cleared."

The ride became a little rough, with a low-frequency vibration punctuated by the occasional shake from side to side to up to down. A couple of the astronauts had tried to explain to Sammy what caused the vibration after liftoff, and they'd quickly descended into Aerodynamics bafflegab involving dynamic pressure – whatever that was – and air density and spacecraft velocity, and Sammy soon got a headache. What he got from it all was the fact that the vibrations would get rougher the higher they climbed, until less than a minute into the climb when they reached a point they called "maximum q", after which things would start to smooth out.

Sammy found the vibrations not too bad, although his stomach got a bit queasy as it got rougher. Just when he was thinking that maybe a big prelaunch meal was a bad idea, Commander Pruett called out, "Max q," after which the vibrations started to die down and Sammy decided he was going to keep his breakfast.

He only heard the burning rocket as a distant rumble behind him, about 270 feet behind him, and it was hopefully not going to get any closer than that for about three minutes.

As they climbed higher, two more invisible ferrets climbed onto his chest. Sammy really wished they wouldn't do that; it made it hard for him to breathe. He'd been told to take short, shallow breaths under high-G, and it seemed like he didn't have any other choice. It got the job done.

"Coming up on first stage cutoff."

"Roger, Orion, first stage cutoff."

The distant rumbling of the rocket engine stopped and the three invisible ferrets went away. Sammy bumped against the straps and he almost felt like he was upside-down. There was a clunk behind him.

"First stage jettison."

"Roger, first stage jettison."

"Second stage ignition."

The little brat kicked the back of Sammy's seat again, and the invisible ferrets came back. The rumbling came back behind him, only it was a bit closer now.

There was another clunk, this time from the front of the spacecraft.

"Escape tower jettisoned. You guys can see where you're going now."

"Roger. Always nice when you're out for a spin."

The escape tower had blasted away, taking the conical shroud with it. Sunlight blazed through the center window, and Sammy could see that they sky had turned a dark purple; he knew it would soon be black as night.

Dougherty looked back and asked, "How's everything going back there?"

Murphy replied, "Doing fine, folks!" Sammy gave a paws up.

If it weren't for the heavy weight on his chest, Sammy was getting along fine. The ride was a lot smoother now. He sat back and listened to the muted roar of the engine and the radio chatter, calling out altitudes and velocities. That's the way it was going to be for the next five minutes.

Eventually, Pruett said, "Coming up on engine cutoff."

"Roger, Orion, engine cutoff coming up."

"Cutoff!"

The rumbling ceased and the weight on Sammy's chest went away. Again, Sammy felt like he was hanging upside-down, but only long enough for him to get oriented. Now he was floating, like in the Vomit Comet, but this time it didn't go away after a few seconds. He had enough time now to get used to the feeling. He knew that some people didn't react too well to zero-G, but it felt great to him.

Pruett said, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have shut down our engine, and we would like for you to remain in your seats and keep your seat belts fastened while we do some figuring and head-scratching and determine if we're where we're supposed to be."

Yet another clunk sounded somewhere behind them.

"We want to reassure you that that was not one of the wings falling off, but our separation from the second rocket stage. It was a nice rocket stage, but it did its job and we don't really need it anymore.

"Now, we will do all sorts of arithmetic and orbital-determination stuff with our fancy computers, and we will also be extending our solar panels. While we're doing all these exciting things, you will be entertained by your own humming of popular tunes, assuming you're at all musically inclined. Thank you for flying Orion Airlines and have a nice day."

"Hey, Sammy, how ya doing down there? All I can see is your helmet."

"I'm doing fine, Murph. I'm sorry my helmet isn't more interesting to look at. How'd you come through the launch?"

"Pretty good! Quite a ride!"

After about ten minutes, Commander Pruett said, "Okay, we seem to be in the orbit we'd planned for. We'll be doing an orbital correction burn in about half an hour, and we should reach the ISS in five hours. In the meantime, you folks can get up, float around, stretch your legs and enjoy the view."

Sammy wasted no time undoing his seat harness, and neither did Murphy. There were four circular windows distributed around the sidewalls of the Orion spacecraft. A typical window was just barely big enough for a human to look through, but it was plenty big for two ferrets.

Sammy and Murphy floated over to a side window. Together, the two ferrets looked down on the Earth below them.

"Like, wow."

"No kidding."

It didn't seem at first that they were all that high above the Indian Ocean. But if you looked real close, you might make out the patterns of the waves. Then you noticed that the clouds were like fluffs of cotton floating along on the pale blue water. The coast of India was coming up, and the beaches were reduced to narrow borders.

As far away as the Earth's surface was, you could still see it very sharply. You could make out cultivated fields and forests. Far off on the horizon, the Himalayas rose up, little more than snow-topped wrinkles in a generally smooth surface.

Murphy studied the distant line of the horizon. "Well, I guess that proves it."

"Proves what, Murph?"

"This world really is round."

Sammy nodded. "When it comes right down to it, you usually have to take someone's word for it, don't you?"

"That's a beautiful place down there."

"Yes, it is."

-----------------------------------------------

By the time Orion 7 docked with the Space Station, everyone had gotten out of their pressure suits. The humans were in cargo pants and T-shirts, and Murphy had donned his red serge tunic. He now placed his campaign hat on his head and straightened up.

"How do I look?"

Itiyorshu said, "It might help if ya'll's hat weren't floating away."

Murphy looked up and got a good view of the inside of his hat. He said, "I guess I don't find that surprising", and reached up to grab the campaign hat. He placed it on his head again and cinched up the lanyard below his chin.

Murphy straightened up again and said, "Now how do I look?"

Andie Bergstorm said, "I think you look great, but I'm a sucker for a guy in uniform."

Sammy said, "You look quite impressive, Murph."

Murphy smiled. "Thank you both kindly. Would someone give me the envelope, please?" Lloyd handed him the manila envelope.

Sammy said, "While you're at it, could somebody give me my badge?"

Lloyd handed over Sammy's FBI badge. Sammy had tied a string around it and hung it around his neck now.

Murphy, all business, said, "Now, Commander, if you'd open the door, I have a job to do."

"Sure thing, Constable." Pruett began to open the hatch.

-----------------------------------------------

FBI agent Moldy had wanted all communications from Orion 7 and the Space Station declared confidential and piped in to the law enforcement officials in a private conference room, but NASA Management had nixed this, because they wanted to maintain contact with the astronauts in case of emergencies. Moldy had insisted and threatened to call up FBI brass on the issue, but Keith had managed to talk him into some sort of common sense. As a compromise, the FBI and CBI agents were given a conference room just above and behind the Mission Control room, with a picture window overlooking the banks of controllers' consoles and the huge video screen at the front of the room. The conference room was supplied with a microphone to communicate with the Space Station, while replies were piped through the Control room PA system. Moldy had looked over the setup and was satisfied. He hadn't concerned himself with the controllers on the floor below; after all, they were only government employees.

Now Moldy was sitting at the conference table, with the microphone in front of him. At one side sat NASA representative Charles Keith. Close by sat agents Scolder and Bob; Doug was out of the room looking after some other business.

The view on the vidscreen now was from the SPHERES subsatellite in the Space Station and was of the Station airlock hatch. Station Commander Fleming, a small, nervous man, was undogging the airlock hatch, and four other crewmembers were floating nearby.

Ordinarily the arrival of an Orion crew was a joyous event, with greetings, hugs and backslapping. That was not the case this time. When the hatch was open, the station crewmembers watched quietly as two ferrets floated through.

The Sable ferret, dressed in a red uniform, floated in place and said, "Commander Fleming?"

The nervous man replied, "Yes?"

"How do you do? I'm Murphy, and this is my friend Sammy. We're here to see Mr. Breedlove." Murphy looked around. "I see he isn't here."

One of the station crewmembers said, "He's in the Destiny lab. He almost never comes out of it for anything."

"Not even for the arrival of a spacecraft?"

"Nope. Not even for that. We told him the Orion was coming, and all he said was to bring him anything that was for him. That's normal behavior for him."

"So I gather." Murphy held out the manila envelope. "Well, we actually have something for him."

Murphy then spoke to the camera. "I presume that I now have permission to open this?"

In the conference room on Earth, Moldy spoke into the microphone. "You have permission, Constable."

Murphy opened the envelope and took out three pages of a legal- looking document, which he placed under his arm; he handed the empty envelope to Bergstrom and said, "Now, then, where is the Destiny laboratory?"

Fleming pointed to a hatch a few yards away. "Through there. Breedlove's in there right now."

"Thank you kindly." Murphy floated toward the laboratory hatch, followed by Sammy.

-----------------------------------------------

Garrett Breedlove was hunched over a hydroponics experiment in the Science Lab. He'd been pushing 250 lbs when he'd first arrived at the Space Station, and given his failure to follow the exercise protocols, by now he'd have to push at it from another direction. As happened in a weightless environment, bodily fluids built up in the nasal areas and his face looked even puffier and rounder than normal. He'd let his red hair and beard grow, and it floated around his head like an inflamed halo. He'd heard the noises from the other room and figured that the Orion had arrived.

From the hatchway to the Harmony module came, "Mr. Breedlove?"

He wouldn't have bothered to look up if the voice hadn't been so high-pitched. He turned around and saw two furry creatures floating in place just inside the hatchway. He was certain they were ferrets – one had white fur and the other was dark. What astonished him was that the darker one was dressed in a red monkey suit and some sort of park ranger's hat. He asked, "Who the expletive-deleted are you?!"

The dark one answered, "I'm Constable Murphy of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and I am representing the Canadian Bureau of Investigation. My friend here is named Sammy, and he represents the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Breedlove began to get the idea, and he snickered.

The Mountie held up an official-looking paper and said, "Garrett Breedlove, you are under arrest. You are hereby charged with –"

That's when Murphy began to read the warrant for the first time.

"Charged with –" He read more closely. He flipped through the pages and read even more. His eyes got wider and wider.

"Charged… with…"

Murphy stared at the warrant, and his eyes narrowed. He finally shoved the papers at Sammy and turned around. He kicked back through the hatchway, muttering, "Where's that tin basketball?"

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 9

"MOLDY!"

The Control Room screen was now showing pictures from two different sources on the Space Station, and the controllers were seeing two sides of a very interesting show. One of the fixed cameras in the Harmony module showed a Sable ferret clutching and vigorously shaking the SPHERES subsatellite as they both spun around in midair. The other showed a closeup of the face of a very angry ferret.

"You – you – you disrupt six weeks of our lives to train for flying in outer space! You swear us to secrecy like we're doing super-spy stuff! And you do all this to send us up here to serve warrants on TRAFFIC VIOLATIONS!?"

The controllers stared at Murphy, then turned around to stare up at the picture window to the office.

FBI agent Moldy leaned forward and calmly replied into the microphone, "You'll notice, Constable, that there are quite a few traffic violations. Not to mention several counts of failure to appear in Traffic Court."

"And you couldn't have waited until he came down?! It was all so blasted urgent that it couldn't wait? What's he gonna do up here, rack up even more traffic tickets?"

No one on the Control Room floor made a sound as they listened. A few people here and there were discreetly tapping on their computer keyboards.

"Now, look, Constable, astronauts have always been role models for people, and you'd certainly agree that we can't tolerate scofflaws."

"Don't give me that `scofflaw' baloney, you bargain-basement Eliot Ness! How many times have I seen you park an FBI car in a handicapped-access spot at the Space Center!!"

Moldy allowed himself a slight frown. "That was on Bureau business, Constable, and that takes higher priority than –"

"No, it does not! I heard the oath Sammy had to take! FBI agents are pledged to honor the law! Parking in handicapped spaces, agent Moldy, is not following the spirit of that oath!"

"Constable, we can discuss this later. For right now, may I remind you of the paper you signed when we first approached you on this assignment?"

Murphy calmed down, but he still looked angry. "I remember it."

"As you recall, you pledged to arrest Mr. Breedlove. The paper made no mention of what you were to arrest him for. You were only supposed to arrest him. Am I correct?"

"…Yes."

"Very well. Will you please arrest him, then?"

Murphy nodded.

"Good. We'd like for you to bring Mr. Breedlove into the Harmony module to serve the warrant. We want to make a permanent video record of this for our files.

"I want to emphasize that these video records are not to be made public. Neither is a video record of your… complaint. And I must remind you, Constable, that your signature on that paper I mentioned means that you have pledged to say nothing about this arrest in public for an indefinite period of time."

Murphy glowered in the camera and said nothing.

"I don't believe that you're aware of what that means, Constable. If you ever say anything about this – if you give details about the charges – to reporters, or in an interview, or in a letter to the editor, or even in a public forum online, I can and will speak to your superiors in the RCMP. And it is strongly possible that they will take your badge away."

Murphy said, "I had figured that out already."

Moldy did not react to this. He said, "There is no way that we can keep your trip to the Space Station a secret, nor can we keep a lid on Breedlove's arrest. We do, however, intend on keeping a lid on the charges. The public doesn't need to know anything about that.

"Now, if you can go get Mr. Breedlove…"

"All right." Murphy floated away toward the hatchway to the Destiny lab.

When he'd judged that Murphy was out of earshot, Moldy said softly, "Commander Fleming?"

The nervous-looking man was nearby. He said, "Yes, sir?"

"Would you do us a favor and keep an eye on Constable Murphy while he and the others are up there? Make sure that he doesn't try and contact anyone on the ground about the details of this arrest. It would ease my mind somewhat on the security issue."

"Well, I can try, sir, though I don't know – oh. Oh, my."

Moldy had not realized that out-of-earshot for a human was not the same as out-of-earshot for a ferret.

A Sable head floated upward from below and now filled the screen. Murphy stared into the camera with dangerously slitted eyes. He was angry before, and he was angry now. But it was a completely different form of anger. Before his eyes had burned with the hot anger of emotion. Now they were little black marbles of super-cold ice; the anger they showed was anything but emotional. Several controllers would swear later that the temperature in the Control Room had dropped several degrees at that point.

Murphy spoke with a voice as soft as a snake's hiss. "I gave you my word that I would not say anything."

Moldy said, "Constable, I like to cover all bases in a situation like this –"

"I said… I gave you my word."

"Constable Murphy –" But Murphy had turned and was floating away.

The camera showed him as he stopped just outside the hatchway and picked up his voice as he called into the Destiny lab, "Mr. Breedlove, will you come out here, please?"

Breedlove was heard to say, "I don't have to come out there if I don't want –"

"You come out here, human, and you come out here RIGHT NOW!!"

There was a new Alpha male in the neighborhood, and he spoke in a high-pitched voice that nobody would dare to challenge.

Moldy, his eyes on the screen, said, "So, how long does anyone think it will be before Constable Murphy tries to go public?"

Moldy was startled when a fist slammed down on the conference desk next to him, and he was even more startled to see that it was Scolder's.

Scolder bellowed, "Haven't you heard a word that he said? He will not talk! He promised that he'd keep quiet, and he meant it! Do you understand that?!"

Moldy replied, "It's been my experience that nobody keeps a promise."

"Well, that only says something about the company you keep, and it says something about you! I've heard a lot about that Mountie, and everyone knows that he will keep a promise. Everyone!

"Do you realize what you've just done? You've offered him the worst insult possible. You questioned his honor! If that ever got out, every Constable in the RCMP would formally declare you their worst enemy! I'll go further – he's put several criminals away in Canada's Territorial Prison, and a lot of them would swear vengeance on you on his behalf! That's how much he's respected!"

Moldy said, "Well, it's a good thing that this won't get out, isn't it?"

Scolder shook his head and said, "That's it. I'm not working with you anymore, Mister. We're going our separate ways, and I can only hope that my next partner will have half the integrity of that ferret!" Scolder stalked away and stood by the picture window, glaring down at the Control Room floor.

On the vidscreen, the Space Station crew was staring at Breedlove as he came into the Harmony module; he looked surly and resentful, but he didn't stop and complain. Constable Murphy was floating in midair with the warrant, waiting for him.

Soon Breedlove was in front of Constable Murphy, and the Mountie began to read. It is a testimony to him that he did not once hesitate.

"Garrett Breedlove, you are charged with 35 counts of driving over the speed limit in a residential area; 18 counts of driving over the speed limit in a commercial area; 22 counts of parking in a no- parking zone; 17 counts of failure to properly signal a turn; 12 counts of failure to provide proof of car insurance; 6 counts of failure to reduce speed in a school zone; 18 counts of failure to provide proof of vehicle registration; 10 counts of driving with inoperative taillights; 12 counts of running a red light; 23 counts of failure to come to a complete stop at an intersection; 5 counts of driving the wrong way on a one-way street; 8 counts of failure to yield right-of-way; and 16 counts of failure to properly signal a lane change. You are also charged with 25 counts of failure to appear in Traffic Court."

Murphy folded up the paper and continued. "When the Orion spacecraft leaves the International Space Station, you will be aboard in my custody. Once the spacecraft lands, you will be handed over to Federal authorities. Until such time as the Orion spacecraft leaves the ISS, you will be confined to your quarters, and you will only be allowed to leave your quarters subject to my permission." The Mountie turned to Fleming. "Commander, will you and another crewmember of your choosing please escort Mr. Breedlove to his quarters?"

Breedlove tried. He really did. He grumbled to Fleming, "If you and anyone else here think they're tough enough to –"

Murphy said, "Of course, I can escort you myself if you wish."

Breedlove, all 250-plus pounds of him, looked down at the ferret, all less-than-four-pounds of him. Murphy looked up and did not blink.

No one watching would have placed a bet on a fair fight. Everyone knew who would have won.

Murphy said to Commander Fleming, "Sir, if you wouldn't mind?" This time Breedlove offered no resistance, verbal or otherwise.

Moldy leaned back in his chair and smiled, more or less. He turned to the NASA rep Keith and said, "Sir, would you please obtain a recording of the arrest for my people? And make sure that there are no other recordings of it or any other sensitive images?"

Keith glumly nodded and stood up. Just as he was heading for the door, it opened and CBI agent Doug came in; he looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

His partner, agent Bob, picked up the vibes right away. "Is something wrong?"

Doug pointed at the vidscreen. Murphy and Sammy were floating together and discussing something. Doug said, "The Constable – his outburst earlier –"

Moldy frowned. "We'll be putting a lockdown on that. What about it?"

"It's already been posted on YouTube."

Moldy jumped up and knocked his chair over. "WHAT?!"

"It's already out there. Several people have put it on YouTube, and it's showing up on other online video services."

"But that –" Moldy cleared his throat to get rid of the squeakiness in his voice and started again. "But that's –" He stomped over to the window and stared at the vidscreen. "How did he – I'll have his badge for this!"

"He didn't do it." Scolder barely managed to keep a straight face. "He couldn't. He's been on camera all this time, and he's not had a chance to get online. I'm not even sure he could have accessed or downloaded a video file up there, anyway. No, he didn't do this."

"He had someone here on the ground –"

"How? He would have had to arrange it ahead of time, and he wouldn't have known he'd make that outburst of his."

Moldy stared at the vidscreen. His cellphone began to chirp, but he didn't answer; he could figure who it was and he didn't want to talk to them. "But – but who did do it?"

Scolder pointed down at the Control Room floor, at all the technicians and controllers at the consoles. "I'd say that you have about five dozen suspects."

When the banging started above and behind them, the controllers looked over their shoulders, up at the conference room where the Suit was pounding the window and shouting down at them; why the original building planners had made the window glass shatterproof nobody knew anymore, but it certainly seemed like a good idea now.

The Suit was shouting loudly enough that people below could hear what he was saying. The Medical Officer nudged the Spacecraft Communicator sitting next to him and said, "Well, Vasily, there's some more English for you to learn!"

Vasily listened for a few moments, then shrugged his shoulders. "It is nothing that I have not heard before."

--------------------------------------------

It was about 6 in the evening when Miryam and Jakob walked in their front door. Jakob yawned and said, "Oh, what a day! We were busy at the store like you wouldn't believe! How was your day at the Crisis Center?"

"It was draining. We weren't all that busy, but many of the people that did come in seemed to have some serious problems. Quality over quantity, you might say."

"I can see that. Someone was asking about Sammy – have we heard from him?"

"No, we haven't, not for a week or so. Whatever he's doing, he said it was going well. I told him to tell Murphy not to get him killed."

"It's nice to give Murphy a reminder. Tell you what – why don't we go out to dinner tonight? That new kosher place off of 21st and Amidon. I've heard some good things about the food."

"I think I'd like that. Let me go freshen up; it'll be a few minutes."

"You do that." Jakob sat down in front of the television. "I'll see if there's anything on NASA TV about the launch today."

Miryan smiled and shook her head. "You and your space flights." She went into their bedroom as Jakob worked the remote.

Miryam checked her makeup and assessed her clothing. Was it good enough to wear out to dinner? For that matter, did she need to dress up at all?

That was a good question. "Jakob, dear heart, how fancy is this place?"

He didn't answer, but she heard a thump as something hit the floor.

"Jakob?" She rushed to the living room, to see her husband sitting and staring at the TV, just like the time when he'd accidentally tuned to The O'Reilly Factor. The remote was on the floor where he'd dropped it.

"Jakob, what is it?" She looked at the TV screen.

Jakob was tuned to NASA TV, as she expected, and on the screen was a file photo of –

She knew that ferret!

"Murphy? What's he doing on television?" She was astonished when the picture switched to show a video of Murphy, apparently floating in midair. Where could he be – was he on the Space Station?

"What in the world -?" Then a Dark-Eyed White ferret floated into view, and Miryam shrieked.

Miryam and Jakob didn't make it to the new kosher restaurant that night.

To be continued...

[pauljmsn]

Part 10

Orion 7 remained docked to the ISS for ten days. A lot can happen in that time.

The FBI never did determine who leaked the video of Murphy's angry outburst, nor did they find any further clues a few hours later when someone posted the video of Murphy reading the charges to Breedlove. The FBI poked around a few more days, but when a Techno-pop remix of audio samples from both videos became a big hit on dance floors across the world, they decided to just quietly drop the whole thing.

The FBI had other problems as it was. The Bureau's PR office was soon fielding questions from reporters asking about who Agent Moldy was. The people answering the telephones soon developed a standard response of "I'm sorry – we can't release any information on Agent Moldy". This soon evolved to "I'm sorry – we can't release any information on ex-Agent Moldy". On a depressing note, they also began to receive enquiries from reporters about who "Alan Mess" or "Ellen Nast" was. The standard response developed for these cases was a more-or-less polite version of "That name is Eliot Ness, you moron! Go read a history book!" Such is the state of education today.

Predictably, Murphy and Sammy quickly became celebrities. There were constant calls for a press conference; NASA saw no reason why not, so two days after Breedlove's arrest, a large number of viewers tuned in to watch a live interview with two ferrets floating in the center of the Space Station's Harmony module. The networks pre- empted regular programming to carry the interview, something rarely done for space-related news nowadays.

On being informed two days ago of how someone had blown the lid on the whole thing, Murphy had gone off by himself for ten minutes to laugh his head off, so for the interview, he and Sammy were both smiling and relaxed. It's easy to guess what the first questions were about, but both Murphy and Sammy politely and firmly refused to discuss the details of the arrest, even though the reporters knew practically everything anyway. As Murphy said – over and over – "I'm sorry, but I have agreed not to discuss that." The reporters could do nothing but accept this, so they fell back into puff-piece mode – asking whatever trivial questions they could come up with. Murphy and Sammy didn't mind. They readily answered questions on training, what the flight was like, what were some of Murphy's other cases as a Mountie, etc., etc., etc. Much was made of Sammy being an ordained Rabbi, and of NASA's plans for him to officiate Sabbath at his Wichita synagogue via remote link from orbit.

The next day, Murphy and Sammy were interviewed again, this time by a group of grade-school students. This went over well, with the possible exception of one young man from Bend, Oregon.

"Um, hi, um, my name is Billy, and, um, this question is for Sammy."

"This is Sammy. Hi, Billy. What's your question?"

"Um, you're a Rabbi, right? Um, doesn't the Jewish Sabbath begin as, um, sundown on Friday?"

"Yes, it does, Billy, that's very good. Was there something else you wanted to know?"

"Yeah, um, yes. Um, the Space Station goes around the Earth about every ninety minutes or so. So that means that you see, um, sixteen sunsets up there in one day."

"That's true."

"So, um, does that mean that you'll have to observe Sabbath sixteen times on Friday?"

Sammy was silent for a few seconds. "Excuse me, Billy, but did I sit in front of you on an airliner once?"

--------------------------------------------

Murphy and Sammy wanted very much to make themselves useful over the ten-day stay, and people were pleasantly surprised at how handy they were. A tiny body can easily get into places that a human couldn't, and the two ferrets found themselves snaking their way into conduits, along wire bundles, and behind consoles to check loose connections and retrieve lost items. They got along well with the station crew – with the single exception – and the working relationship was a good one. Sleeping arrangements consisted of nothing more complicated than two mesh bags, and the two enjoyed the most comfortable sleep they'd ever had.

At the end of one day, about a week after their arrival, Sammy went looking for Murphy. He had an idea where he'd be; it was a very popular spot for them and for the humans.

The Cupola was a bay-windowish observation module installed on Node 3. It was about six feet in diameter and over four feet high, with seven windows. The primary purpose of the Cupola was to give Station crew a place to observe EVA operations and docked spacecraft. But the main attraction was the view it gave of Earth and space.

Sure enough, Murphy was in the Cupola, and Sammy joined him there. It was fairly roomy for a single human, but for two ferrets it was sheer luxury.

Sammy looked out over the Earth. He'd been impressed when he'd seen his home planet from the Orion window, but this was so much bigger. He had been in awe to see how huge the Earth looked. It was blue and green and brown and white and shiny and the horizon looked so far, far away. Then you turned around to look in another direction and saw that the horizon was far, far away that way.

For now, they were on the dark side of the Earth. There were lights scattered over the surface below, but for all the light that cities put out, there was still a lot of empty blackness between them. The Moon was new at this time of the month. So there was no light pollution to speak of.

Murphy was looking at the stars.

Sammy smiled. "Are they like you remember them, Murph?"

Murphy spoke in a voice little above a whisper. "Even better."

Sammy looked up at the stars. He used to be pretty good at astronomy. There were so many stars visible here above the atmosphere that it was a little harder to pick out the constellations, but he managed to recognize a few. That over there was Andromeda. Over there was Perseus. And over there was –

Over there was Orion.

"How you feeling, Murph?"

Murphy smiled at his old friend. "I'm doing fine. I'm tired. We've accomplished a lot over the past few days."

"No kidding. I know the humans are grateful. Think of how much more we could do if they had EVA suits in our size!"

Murphy nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if NASA had been working on some already."

"Yeah. They've put together some nice ferret-sized hardware." Sammy looked at the horizon. A golden band had appeared on the distant horizon and was gradually growing wider and thicker. The Sun was about to come up. "We've done it, Murphy. We really have taken a giant leap for ferretkind."

Murphy nodded. "Yes. Yes we have."

The Sun rose above the horizon, and light began to move over the surface of the globe.

--------------------------------------------

In the days prior to leaving the ISS, the human crew availed themselves of the onboard sewing equipment. They replaced the mission patches on their jumpsuits with proper ones, which included Murphy's and Sammy's names. And Max's. To a person - well, almost to a person - they all expressed pride in setting the record straight. As predicted, the patch collectors went nuts.

Orion 7 landed at Edwards Air Force Base on schedule, with no trouble. Murphy turned Breedlove over to FBI agent Scolder as soon as they'd gotten out of the Command Module. Breedlove didn't put up a fight, not the least because he was suffering the consequences of lack of exercise during six months in a zero-G environment. Thankfully he did not have a heart attack or break any bones then and there, but he was very weak. Murphy and Sammy stayed around long enough to see him placed in an ambulance. For some reason he didn't tell them goodbye.

The eight human and ferret members of the Orion 7 crew flew back to Houston, where they rejoined Max, and the next few days were full of debriefings, more press conferences, more "I-can't-comment-on- that"s, more interviews and a lot of photo ops. Murphy and Sammy agreed to thorough medical examinations to see how ferrets coped with the rigors of space – the final assessment was that they'd done fine.

Then came the day when Murphy, Sammy and Max were driven out to Ellington Field, where they boarded the Skippy's mini-Learjet.

And they flew home.

--------------------------------------------

Miryam and Jakob gave their son a ton of hugs and kisses, and they told him how proud they were of him – both at the same time, so it was really special. The synagogue was also proud of its famous Rabbi, and they held a big celebration for him in a rented hall downtown; the place was packed with congregation members, others of the Wichita Jewish community and quite a few goyim, ferret and human. Sammy shook paws and signed autographs until his paw was cramped. The next Friday's Sabbath observation was crowded as well, and Sammy wondered how many actually listened to his sermon.

Sammy still had his FBI badge. Nobody had asked him to return it after he came back. He tried calling the local FBI branch about it, and after being put on hold for almost an hour, he was told by a human that they'd get back to him. They never did. He tried contacting them again several times, but no one returned his calls. After several weeks he finally gave up and hung the badge on his office wall, next to his gold astronaut pin. If someone did come around asking about for the FBI badge, they were welcome to take it. He didn't think that they would.

Murphy granted a few interviews to the local news outlets, but he still refused to discuss the details of the arrest. He'd given his word, after all. In general he guarded his privacy closely. He turned down offers for appearances on Leno and O'Brien and the like; Oprah was particularly persistent, but she made the mistake of using the R-word and found herself listening to the dial tone.

Murphy traveled up to Canada for a couple of months, the better to get some peace and quiet. Canada, as always, treated its native son with respect and didn't bother him too much. The RCMP, however, awarded him a special golden medal for his services. When he came back, he put it with the others.

And the hubbub died down, as hubbubs always do. The news reported a politician saying something stupid, and the arrest of an alleged singer/actress for driving under the influence, and the public, distracted by shiny objects, forgot those who had boldly gone where no ferret had gone before. Murphy and Sammy preferred it that way.

To be concluded...

[pauljmsn]

EPILOGUE

It wasn't long after the three ferrets had returned that the Head Skippy called Murphy, Sammy and Max into her office above the Skippy's factory floor.

The Head Skippy said, "Now, while you three were off having your adventures, we've been busy." She opened the shutters on the office window. "Take a gander out there."

Many of the projects were near completion. All of the Inconel-X skin had been attached to the miniature X-15. The Head Skippy pointed at the aircraft with pride. "Doing some interior work on it now – hydraulics, electric wiring, that stuff. We'll be done in a couple of months, and start drop tests from our B-52."

She pointed at some large object nearby, covered with a tarpaulin. "But our big thing is Project O." She flipped a switch and her voice was heard over the hangar's PA system. "Okay, guys, off with the tarp!"

Some Skippys pulled the cover off to reveal a long, sleek shape. The upper surface was practically flat; some sort of inlet system protruded from the bottom, right at the center, and the lower surface forward and aft was oddly curved. There were stubby wings and two stubby vertical fins at the aft end, as well as three bell- shaped nozzles.

"Behold – Project O, better known as the Skippy Orbital Vehicle System. What you're looking at down there is a full-scale mockup of the prototype."

She walked over to her drafting table and removed the plastic cover. Underneath was a stack of color illustrations. Murphy, Sammy and Max crowded around her as she leafed through the pictures.

"These are what the final vehicle will probably look like; there'll be some changes in design, but not major ones. It's primarily a lifting body, as you can tell, and it will be all-composite construction. The aft end houses the engines and the propellant tanks, and the crew cabin is at the front. The main propulsion system will be a scramjet engine, which is why the lower surfaces are shaped that way.

"Now the flightplan will call for a miniature 747 – we've already added hardpoints to one, like the Shuttle Carrier, and it's in the Paint Shop now – to carry the Orbiter up to about 50,000 feet altitude, where it will be released. Now these two outboard nozzles here on the aft end are special air-breathing rocket engines that the Skippys are developing; that might well change to ramjets in the final design. After release from the carrier, these two engines will light and take the vehicle up to Mach 5. After that, the scramjet will kick in and push it up to about Mach 20. After that, this center nozzle will light up. It's a conventional hydrogen/oxygen rocket engine, and it will put the vehicle into orbit; this engine will also be used to orbital maneuvers and the re-entry burn."

Max looked at the print of the Orbiter for a long time. Finally he said, "It's – beautiful."

The Head Skippy smiled. "Ain't it the truth?"

Murphy asked, "What's the capacity of this thing?"

"We haven't got final figures yet, but we'll have enough power to carry a lot of cargo. We're in the process of designing a special passenger module that can be installed in the cargo hold. We figure the biggest problem will be maximizing the window space without compromising structural strength. Folks will probably want to take in the scenery."

Sammy said, "Oh, yes, they will. Trust me on that."

The Head Skippy continued, "We'll be starting on construction of the prototype soon. I figure it won't be but a few months before we start laying the keel, so to speak, and cutting composite. We're actually running ahead of schedule now, so it may only be a matter of weeks."

Sammy shook his head. "Man, this is way ahead of anything NASA's got!"

The Head Skippy raised her eyebrows. "Of course. We're the Skippys. They're not."

Max said, "So, pretty soon the Skippys will have orbital capability. Have you planned where you'll go once you're up there?"

The Head Skippy looked nonchalant. "Oh… We'll probably visit the ISS. If NASA makes us feel welcome, that is. They've tended to get huffy about us in the past – you know that." She grinned. "I will admit that rubbing their nose in it is sooo tempting."

Murphy said, "This might motivate NASA enough to pick up the pace on its own behalf. That's the way healthy competition works, isn't it?"

The head Skippy shrugged. "Well, there's a first time for everything, I suppose. Anyway, if they keep on getting huffy, we've got long-term plans to build a space station of our own. Wheel- shaped like in 2001, spun up for artificial gravity, that sort of thing. We'd use it as a platform for orbital research, a depot for deep-space missions, tourism and, well, why not a permanent residence?"

There was one more print in the stack. Murphy pulled it out and said, "What in the world is this?" It showed a Sable ferret floating in midair, wearing a large backpack.

The Head Skippy said, "Oh, that's something I came up with. It's a special Manned – or Ferreted, I should say – Maneuvering Unit, kind of like the old MMUs that NASA played with. It could be used for EVAs, but this one is for getting around indoors. It uses compressed- air reaction-control jets for maneuvering, like the SPHERES they use on the Space Station.

Murphy looked closer at the picture. "Is it just me, or does that ferret remind you of anyone?"

Max stared at the picture for a long time before he said, softly, "That's – that's me."

The Head Skippy said, "Oh, yes, that reminds me. We're designing the Orbiter to be handicapped-friendly."

Sammy put his paw on Max's shoulder. "I told you that you might get your turn someday, old friend."

The head Skippy leaned down and said, "Max, we'll be looking for someone to head the testing program for the Orbiter prototype. It'll likely be a hands-on job. Would you like it?"

Max said nothing. He just sat and looked at the picture of a grinning ferret in freefall.

THE END