Sci Fiction Classics Volume 4 by Tristram Rolph Page B

vaguely alarmed.
    McNaught pointed at three thin books on his desk. "The middle one. Page
     twenty."
    Leafing through it, Burman found an item that said: Vane W. Cassidy,
     R-Ad. Head Inspector Ships and Stores.
    Burman swallowed hard. "Does that mean—?"
    "Yes, it does," said McNaught without pleasure. "Back to training-college
     and all its rigmarole. Paint and soap, spit and polish." He put on an
     officious expression, adopted a voice to match it. "Captain, you have only
     seven ninety-nine emergency rations. Your allocation is eight hundred.
     Nothing in your logbook accounts for the missing one. Where is it? What
     happened to it? How is it that one of the men's kit lacks an officially
     issued pair of suspenders? Did you report his loss?"
    "Why does he pick on us?" asked Burman, appalled. "He's never chivvied us
     before."
    "That's why," informed McNaught, scowling at the wall. "It's our turn to
     be stretched across the barrel." His gaze found the calendar. "We have
     three days—and we'll need 'em! Tell Second Officer Pike to come here
     at once."
    Burman departed gloomily. In short time, Pike entered. His face reaffirmed
     the old adage that bad news travels fast.
    "Make out an indent," ordered McNaught, "for one hundred gallons of
     plastic paint, Navy gray, approved quality. Make out another for thirty
     gallons of interior white enamel. Take them to spaceport stores right
     away. Tell them to deliver by six this evening along with our correct
     issue of brushes and sprayers. Grab up any cleaning material that's going
     for free."
    "The men won't like this," remarked Pike, feebly.
    "They're going to love it," McNaught asserted. "A bright and shiny ship,
     all spic and span, is good for morale. It says so in that book. Get moving
     and put those indents in. When you come back, find the stores and
     equipment sheets and bring them here. We've got to check stocks before
     Cassidy arrives. Once he's here we'll have no chance to make up shortages
     or smuggle out any extra items we happened to find in our hands."
    "Very well, sir." Pike went out wearing the same expression as Burman's.
    Lying back in his chair, McNaught muttered to himself. There was a feeling
     in his bones that something was sure to cause a last-minute ruckus. A
     shortage of any item would be serious enough unless covered by a previous
     report. A surplus would be bad, very bad. The former implied carelessness
     or misfortune. The latter suggested barefaced theft of government property
     in circumstances condoned by the commander.
    For instance, there was that recent case of Williams of the heavy cruiser Swift. He'd heard of it over the spacevine when out around Bootes.
     Williams had been found in unwitting command of eleven reels of
     electric-fence wire when his official issue was ten. It had taken a
     court-martial to decide that the extra reel—which had formidable
     barter-value on a certain planet—had not been stolen from
     space-stores, or, in sailor jargon, "teleportated aboard." But Williams
     had been reprimanded. And that did not help promotion.
    He was still rumbling discontentedly when Pike returned bearing a folder
     of foolscap sheets.
    "Going to start right away, sir?"
    "We'll have to." He heaved himself erect, mentally bid good-bye to time
     off and a taste of the bright lights. "It'll take long enough to work
     right through from bow to tail. I'll leave the men's kit inspection to the
     last."
    Marching out of the cabin, he set forth toward the bow, Pike following
     with broody reluctance.
    As they passed the open main lock, Peaslake observed them, bounded eagerly
     up the gangway and joined behind. A pukka member of the crew, he was a
     large dog whose ancestors had been more enthusiastic than selective. He
     wore with pride a big collar inscribed: Peaslake—Property of S.S. Bustler. His chief duties, ably performed, were to keep alien rodents off
     the ship and, on rare occasions, smell out dangers not visible to human