“Thanks.” In the corridor the first person Leeming encountered was Commodore Keen. Being too burdened to salute, he threw the other a regulation eyes-left which Keen acknowledged with a curt nod. Keen brushed past and entered the room. His loud, harsh voice boosted out the open door.

“Ah, Davies, so you have settled in. Since you won’t be required today you can clean up this hog-pen in readiness for mp inspection this evening.”

“Yes, Mr. Mallarqui.”

“WHAT?”

Outside, Leeming took a firmer grip on his bags and ran like hell.

The ship was a beauty, the same diameter as an ordinary scout-vessel but over twice the length. These proportions made it look less like a one-man snoop-boat than a miniature cruiser. Standing on its tail, it towered so high that its nose seemed to reach halfway towards the clouds.

Studying it appreciatively, Leeming asked, “Any more like this!”

“Three,” responded Montecelli, the spaceport’s chief engineer. “All hidden elsewhere with a tight security ring around them. Strict orders from above say that this type of vessel may be used only one at a time. A second must not be sent out until after yours has returned.”

“So I’m first on the list, eh? What if I don’t come back? What if this ship is destroyed and you’ve no way of knowing?”

The other shrugged. “That’s the War Staff’s worry, not mine. I only obey directives from above and those can be trouble enough.”

“H’m! Probably they’ve set a time limit far my safe return. If I’m not back by then they’ll assume that I’m a gone goose.”

“They haven’t said anything to you about it?”

“No.”

“Then don’t you worry either. Life’s too short. In time of war it gets shortened for many.” Montecelli scowled at the sky. “Whenever a boat boosts upward on a column of flame I never know whether that’ll be the last I’ll ever see of it.”