It breaks down this way: six men to a team, four teams maximum; three for planetary grounding, one for ship's con; since any given team can do either task, they are interchangeable, who gets which depends upon rotation; three for exploration, then, because averages spread over several generations of interstellar capability bear out the fact that mother primaries generally possess no more than three planets that are in the least amicable to humans. I was more than cursorily familiar with the drill. The basic requirement for Interstel is five years' service with a survey team. I'd spent nine. Which is another reason for general GS enmity: the turncoat syndrome. That and the fact that prospective agents are not even considered unless they rate in the top one per cent in service qualification and fitness reports: the jealousy angle. I'd known Moya from my last regular duty ship. I'd worked up from assistant under his tutelage. I'd been ready for the Team Co-ordinator/Master Spaceman exams when I'd applied for transfer. Moya had raged for hours. But he'd given me a first-rate recommendation. Call it service pride. I was just getting a start on the vid tapes when the cubicle's panel dilated and Moya stamped in, bristling like a game cock. "What's all this about Epsilon-Terra?" I removed the ear bead and grinned at him. "Hello, Tony, you old space dog! You're looking fine. What happened? Did they pull you off leave, too?" He held the acid face until the panel closed, then he brightened a little. At least, he didn't refuse my proffered hand. He stood fists on hips, glaring at me. Finally, he growled: "I had hopes you'd wash out. When I heard you'd made it, I was plenty disappointed." He shook his head. "You seem healthy enough, but I still think it's a waste of a good spacer." And that, apparently, was as close as he was going to come to saying that he was glad to see me again, because, in the next breath, he reverted to Starship Master. "Now, let's have the nexus. All I know is that I got orders to round up a short crew, was handed a space plan with co-ordinates that were originally filed for GSS 231 a few months back, with an ultimate destination of a planet I orbited five years ago." "You've been there?" "I just said so, didn't I? Don't they teach you vacuum cops to listen?" I gave him the background. He nodded soberly a couple of times, but his only comment was: "I heard rumors." Then he said: "That's all I've got time for now. We make our first jump shortly. That'll take us to where 231 went on GSM. From there on out, we follow her plan precisely." "Until we locate and grapple, Tony, then we start making our own mistakes." "I don't doubt that." Moya moved to leave, paused, said over his shoulder: "What's this about old Ben Stuart being cashiered for misconduct?" "It's true."