rigid attention.

"Koa," Rip barked. "Where can I find him?"

"He's not here, sir. He and eight men left fifteen minutes ago. I don't
know where they went, sir."

Rip shot a worried glance at his wrist chronometer. He had two minutes
left, before the cruiser departed. No more time now to search for his men.
He hoped the sergeant-major had sense enough to be waiting at some
sensible place. He went up the ladder hand over hand and sped down the
corridor to the supply room.

The spaceman first class in charge of supplies was turning an audio-mag
through a hand viewer, chuckling at the cartoons. At the sight of Rip's
flushed, anxious face he dropped the machine. "Yessir?"

"I need a spack. Full gear including bubble."

"Yessir." The spaceman looked him over with a practiced eye. "One full
space pack. That would be medium-large, right, sir?"

"Correct." Rip took the counter stylus and inscribed his name, serial
number, and signature on the blank plastic sheet. Gears whirred as the
data was recorded.

The spaceman vanished into an inner room and reappeared in a moment
lugging a plastic case called a space pack, or "spack" for short. It
contained complete personal equipment for space travel. Rip grabbed it.
"Fast service. Thanks, Rocky." All spacemen were called "Rocky" if you
didn't know their names. It was an abbreviation for rocketeer, a title all
of them had once carried.

Valve Eight was some distance away. Rip decided a cross ramp would be
faster than the moving track. He swung the spack to his shoulder and made
his legs go. Seconds were ticking off, and he had an idea the _Scorpius_
would make space on time, whether or not he arrived. He lengthened his
stride and rounded a turn by going right up on the wall, using a powerful
leg thrust against a ventilator tube for momentum.

He passed an observation port as he reached the platform rim and caught a
glimpse of ruddy rocket exhaust flames outlined against the dark curve of
earth. That would be the Terra rocket making its controlled fall to home
with Flip aboard. Without slowing, he leaped across the high speed track,
narrowly missing a senior space officer. He shouted his apologies, and
gained the entrance to Valve Eight just as the high buzz of the radiation
warning sounded, signaling a nuclear drive cruiser preparing to take off.

Nine faces of assorted colors and expressions turned to him. He had a
quick impression of black tunics and trousers. He had foun