in space that Major Briarton had insisted it was.

"He didn't tell us everything he knew," Tom said fiercely. "He didn't
say everything he wanted to say, either. He doesn't think it was an
accident any more than I do."

"How do you know, are you a mind reader?"

"No."

"Well, Dad wasn't a superman, either. He was taking an awful risk,
trying to work a mining rig by himself, and he had a bad break. Why do
you have to have somebody to blame for it?"

"Keep talking," Tom said. "You'll convince yourself yet."

Greg just jammed his hands in his pockets, and they walked in silence
for a moment.

For Tom and Greg Hunter, Sun Lake City had always been home. Now they
walked along the Main Concourse, Tom with the aluminum box under his
arm, Greg with his own spacer's pack thrown over his shoulder. They
didn't talk; rather than being drawn closer by the news of the tragedy,
it seemed that they had drawn farther apart, as though the one common
link that had held them together had suddenly been broken.

Finally Tom broke the silence. "At least there's one thing we can do,"
he said. "I'm going to call Johnny Coombs."

He shortly found a phone booth and dialed a number. Johnny had been a
friend of the family for years; he and Roger Hunter had been partners in
many mining ventures in the Asteroid Belt before Roger had taken his
position with Jupiter Equilateral. If Johnny had any suspicions that
Roger Hunter's accident had been more than an accident, he certainly
would not hesitate to voice them....

After a dozen rings, Tom hung up, tried another number. There was no
answer there, either. Frowning, Tom rang the city's central paging
system. "Put in a personal call for Johnny Coombs," he said when the
"record" signal flashed on. "Tell him to contact the Hunters when he
comes in. We'll be at home...."

They resumed their silent walk. When they reached H wing on the fourth
level, they turned right down an apartment corridor, and stopped in
front of a familiar doorway. Tom pressed his palm against the
lock-plate, and the door swung open.

It was home to them, the only home they had ever known. Soft lights
sprang up on the walls of the apartment as the door opened. Tom saw the
old bookcases lining the walls, the drafting-board and light at the far
end of the room, the simple chairs and dining table, the door which led
into the bedroom and kitchen beyond. The room had the slightly
disheveled look that it had had ever since Mo