"Not me. This is your goat." The mate's eyes were sullen. "This is gross breach, and you know it. They'll have you in irons when we get back. I don't want anything to do with it." "You're under orders, Sabo. You keep forgetting." "They're illegal orders, sir!" "I'll take responsibility for that." Sabo looked the old man straight in the eye. "You mean you'd sell us down a rat hole to save your skin. That's what you mean." Captain Loomis' eyes widened incredulously. Then his face darkened, and he stepped very close to the big man. "You'll watch your tongue, I think," he gritted. "Be careful what you say to me, Sabo. Be very careful. Because if you don't, _you'll_ be in irons, and we'll see just how long you last when you get back home. Now you've got your orders. You'll board the ship with Brownie." The big man's fists were clenched until the knuckles were white. "You don't know what's over there!" he burst out. "We could be slaughtered." The captain's smile was unpleasant. "That would be such a pity," he murmured. "I'd really hate to see it happen--" * * * * * The ship hung dark and silent, like a shadowy ghost. No flicker of light could be seen aboard it; no sound nor faintest sign of life came from the tall, dark hull plates. It hung there, huge and imponderable, and swung around with the Station in its silent orbit. The men huddled about Sabo and Brownie, helping them into their pressure suits, checking their equipment. They had watched the little scanning beetles crawl over the surface of the great ship, examining, probing every nook and crevice, reporting crystals, and metals, and irons, while the boarding party prepared. And still the radioman waited alertly for a flicker of life from the solemn giant. Frightened as they were of their part in the illegal secrecy, the arrival of the ship had brought a change in the crew, lighting fires of excitement in their eyes. They moved faster, their voices were lighter, more cheerful. Long months on the Station had worn on their nerves--out of contact with their homes, on a mission that was secretly jeered as utter Governmental folly. Ships _had_ been seen, years before, disappearing into the sullen bright atmospheric crust of Saturn, but there had been no sign of anything since. And out there, on the lonely guard Station, nerves had run ragged, always waiting, always watching, wearing away even the iron discipline of their military background. They grew bitterly weary of the same faces, the same routine, the constant repetition of inactivity. And through the months they had watched with increasing anxiety the conflict growing between the captain and his bitter, sullen-eyed second-in-command, John Sabo.