"Thank you, sir," said Slops mechanically. "But you realize there is extreme danger of encountering enemy ships?" "Keep your pants on, Slops!" "Eh?" The chef looked startled. "Beg pardon, sir?" "I said keep your pants on. Sure, I know. And I've took precautions. There's a double watch on duty, and men at every gun. If we do meet up with an Alliance craft, it'll be just too bad for them! "Yes, sirree!" The Old Man grinned comfortably. "I almost hope we do bump into one. After we burn it out of the void we'll have clear sailing all the way to Callisto." "But--but if there should be more than one, sir?" "Don't be ridiculous, my boy. Why should there be?" "Well, for one thing," wrangled our pint-sized cook, "because rich ekalastron deposits were recently discovered on Vesta. For another, because Vesta's orbit is now going into aphelion stage, which will favor a concentration of raiders." The skipper choked, spluttered, and disgorged a bite of half-masticated pancake. "Eka--Great balls of fire! Are you sure?" "Of course, I'm sure. I told you days ago that I was born and raised in the Belt, Captain." "I know. But why didn't you tell me about Vesta before? I mean about the ekalastron deposits?" "Why--why, because--" said Slops. "Because--" "Don't give me lady-logic, you dope!" roared the Old Man, an enraged lion now, his breakfast completely forgotten. "Give me a sensible answer! If you'd told me _that_ instead of just yipping and yapping about how via Iris was a nicer route I'd have listened to you! As it is, we're blasting smack-dab into the face of danger. And us on the most vital mission of the whole ding-busted war!" He was out of his seat, bustling to the audio, buzzing Lieutenant Wainwright on the bridge. "Johnny--that you? Listen, change traj quick! Set a new course through the Belt by way of Iris and the Bog, and hurry up, because--" What reason he planned to give I do not know, for he never finished that sentence. At that moment the _Leo_ rattled like a Model AA spacesled in an ionic storm, rolled, quivered and slewed like a drunk on a freshly-waxed floor. The motion needed no explanation; it was unmistakeable to any spacer who has ever hopped the blue. Our ship had been gripped, and was now securely locked, in the clutch of a tractor beam! * * * * *