t I don't
hold it against you because you had a nice life and I didn't." Astro
continued softly, "You can't answer Mr. Hot-shot Manning, but I can!"

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"I mean that Manning doesn't know what it is to really have it tough!"

"You got a _real_ hard luck story, eh, big boy?" snarled Roger.

"Yeah, I have!" growled Astro. "I got one that'll make your life look
like a spaceman's dream. At least you _know_ about your father. And you
lived with your mother. I didn't have _anything--nothing_! Did you hear
that, Manning? I didn't even have a pair of shoes, until I found a kid
at the Venusport spaceport one day and figured his shoes would fit me. I
beat the space gas out of him and took his shoes. And then they were so
tight, they hurt my feet. I don't know who my father was, nothing about
him, except that he was a spaceman. A rocket buster, like me. And my
mother? She died when I was born. Since I can remember, I've been on my
own. When I was twelve, I was hanging around the spaceport day and
night. I learned to buck rockets by going aboard when the ships were
cradled for repairs, running dry runs, going through the motions, I
talked to spacemen--all who would listen to me. I lied about my age, and
because I was a big kid, I was blasting off when I was fifteen. What
little education I've got, I picked up listening to the crew talk on
long hops and listening to every audioslide I could get my hands on.
I've had it tough. And because I _have_ had it tough, I want to forget
about it. I don't want to be reminded what it's like to be so hungry
that I'd go out into jungles and trap small animals and take a chance on
meeting a tyrannosaurus. So lay off that stuff about feeling sorry for
yourself. And about Tom being a hero, because with all your space gas
you still can't take it! And if you don't want to fight to live, then go
lie down in the corner and just keep your big mouth shut!"

Tom stood staring at the big cadet. His head jutted forward from his
shoulders, the veins in his neck standing out like thick cords. He knew
Astro had been an orphan, but he had never suspected the big cadet's
life had been anything like that which he had just described.

Roger had stood perfectly still while Astro spoke. Now, as the big cadet
walked back to the hatch and nervously began to examine the edges with
his finger tips, Roger walked over and stood behind him.

"Well, you knuckle-headed orphan," said Roger, "a