“All right, that’s about it, boys,” Lindenhoff finished up. He stepped off the platform and the lights above the schematic went out. “You might as well draw your equipment and get started. The quicker it all gets done, the quicker we’ll get paid.”

Coogan slapped him on the back as they walked out on the flight deck. “Remember what I said,” he chuckled. “If there’s any ambition in the gooks at all, shove it hard. Me, I’m going to be looking mighty hard for something to sell ’em.”

“Yeah, sure!” Imbry snapped.

Coogan looked at him wide-eyed. “What’s eating you, boy?”

Imbry took a deep breath. “You’re eating me, Coogan. You and the rest of the setup.” He stopped and glared tensely at Coogan. “I signed a contract. I’ll do what I’m obligated to. But I’m getting off this ship when I come back, and if I ever hear about you birds again, I’ll spit on the sidewalk when I do.”

Coogan reddened. He took a step forward, then caught himself and dropped his hands. He shook his head. “Imbry, I’ve been watching you go sour for the last week. All right, that’s the breaks. Old Smiley made a mistake. It’s not the first time—and you could have fooled me, too, at first. What’s your gripe?”

“What d’you think it is? How about Lindenhoff’s giving you Petrick for a partner?”

Coogan shook his head again, perplexed. “I don’t follow you. He’s a geologist, isn’t he?”

Imbry stared at him in astonishment. “You don’t follow me?” Coogan was the one who’d told him about Petrick’s drinking. He remembered the patronizing lift to Coogan’s lip as he looked across the lounge at the white-faced, muddy-eyed man walking unsteadily through the room.

“Let’s move along,” Lindenhoff said from behind them.

Imbry half turned. He looked down at the Assignment Officer in surprise. He hadn’t heard the man coming. Neither had Coogan. Coogan nodded quickly.

“Just going, Lindy.” Throwing another baffled glance at Imbry, he trotted across the deck toward his sub-ship, where Petrick was standing and waiting.