“It’s anyone’s guess. They must be pretty strong to take punishment like that, unless they have some kind of acceleration shield, but free fall doesn’t bother them either. That ship isn’t designed to spin.” He was staring intently, out at the stars, his big form characteristically motionless, his expression somber. Abruptly he said, “Sue, I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Suppose they’re hostile?”

“Hostile?” She tasted the unfamiliar word, decided she didn’t like it.

“After all, we know nothing about them. Suppose they want to fight? We’d—”

She gasped. Steve flinched before the horror in her face. “What—what put that idea in your head?”

“I’m sorry I shocked you, Sue.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, but why? Did—shh.”

Jim Davis had come into view. The Angel’s Pencil had left Earth when he was twenty-seven; now he was a slightly paunchy thirty-eight, the oldest man on board, an amiable man with abnormally long, delicate fingers. His grandfather, with the same hands, had been a world-famous surgeon. Nowadays surgery was normally done by autodocs, and the arachnodactyls were to Davis merely an affliction. He bounced by, walking on magnetic sandals, looking like a comedian as he bobbed about the magnetic plates.

“Hi, group,” he called as he went by.

“Hello, Jim.” Sue’s voice was strained. She waited until he was out of sight before she spoke again.

Hoarsely she whispered, “Did you fight in the Belt?” She didn’t really believe it; it was merely the worst thing she could think of.

Vehemently Steve snapped, “No!” Then, reluctantly, he added, “But it did happen occasionally.” Quickly he tried to explain. “The trouble was that all the doctors, including the psychists, were at the big bases, like Ceres. It was the only way they could help the people who needed them —be where the miners could find them. But all the danger was out in the rocks.”