SPACE-CAN

By MURRAY LEINSTER

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Thrilling Wonder Stories June 1948. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

When the Winship landed on Ganymede, it was on one of those errands that are handed over to destroyer-skippers, commanding the tin-cans of the space-fleet, because nobody with silver braid wants to do them. Lieutenant Joe Peabody had been officially directed to proceed to Ganymede, land in 10° north latitude and 10° west of the zero longitude echo-beacon, and contact a Ganymedian chief called Yloop.

He was to deliver to that Ganymedian chief one swamp-car, assure him that Earth Government was very happy to give him the present he had requested, and then make what efforts seemed wise to promote cordial relations. Then he was to return to base.

It was just the sort of job that anybody with silver braid would wish off on somebody of lower rank. The Winship carried two officers, ten men, and one dog. The dog was Rickey, the official mascot of the ship and an animal of some reputation. He'd had more and taller tales told about him by the crew than less imaginative men could invent for their ship's mascots.

Such as the story that when the Winship was based on Luna, every time she came back to port there were seven girl-dogs and a Venusian vroom-cat waiting at the space-yard gate when Rickey sauntered out on his first liberty.

The Winship's armament consisted of meteor-repellers, pressure-fused signal-flares, and a pop-gun of no conceivable use out of atmosphere. In combat—if war did come with Mars—her function would be to scout ahead of the Earth battlefleet and try to get off a warning of contact before she was smashed by a guided missile. In peacetime, she ran errands not desired by anybody else and acted as one of the guinea-pigs for the technical brass.

At the moment she was still choked up inside with the three-foot lead-cadmium sheathing—put on in three-inch plates—applied to her fuel tanks when she was sent on a long and purposeless cruise to test the efficiency of pre-bombarded and therefore radioactive fuel. The fuel wasn't efficient at all. Dick Harkness, her second in command, still swore at that sheathing regularly.

He swore again as the little ship settled down through the misty Ganymedian atmosphere. The 

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