The diaphragm clacked an answer. Hanson started. His eyes bulged. He yelled, "What?" Again some metallic buzzing. This time Hanson didn't try to answer. He tottered away from the 'phone. "G-Garrity," he faltered, "will you be needin' the Forenzis before we make port?" "Well, 'tis not exactly _vital_--" admitted Garrity. "But--why?" Hanson made a weak gesture. "Because they're--out there!" "What?" I said. "Outside the ship? How come? Why?" Hanson's eyes were haunted. "Biggs," he said in a hollow voice, "thought they were garbage cans! He used them to dispose of the rotten cargo!" * * * * * Well, there wasn't any danger of the Forenzis getting lost, anyway. But do you know I even had to point _that_ out to Mr. Biggs? Yes. That night I got a personal message for him, and I took it down to his cabin. Being confined to quarters, he was lonely. He looked so abject that I felt sorry for him, and lingered to talk for a while. "I guess you think I'm a frightful dummy, Sparks," he said ruefully. "And I know Captain Hanson thinks so. But--this is my first flight, you know. And nobody ever told me what to use for garbage pails--" "Look, Biggs," I told him, "there's no _need_ for garbage pails in space. You can't just dump things out the airlock and expect to get rid of them." "But Captain Hanson said to junk the spoiled vegetables." "Junk. Not dump! They should have been thrown into the incinerator. You see, anything tossed out of the _Saturn_ in free space just follows along with the ship." I grinned. "I'd hate to be one of the spaceport attendants on Earth when the _Saturn_ comes in surrounded by twenty-four lead satellites full of garbage." He picked me up on that one quick as a flash. "But--but they won't be with us when we land, Sparks. As soon as we hit Earth's atmosphere, the friction will destroy the Forenzis and their contents." I whistled softly. "By golly, you're right. I clean forgot about that, and Hanson was so sore, he forgot it, too. That means we have to get those containers back into the ship before we hit the tropo, or we're going to lose a couple hundred bucks worth of equipment." Biggs said meekly, "I--I'll be glad to go out and reclaim them, Sparks. Can you fix it up with the skipper?" "I'll try," I told him. So the next day I told Hanson about it. The Captain yanked his lower lip thoughtfully and agreed. "Let him do it. That's better than giving him a free ride to Earth. And maybe he'll slip into the rocket blasts?" I passed the order on to Biggs; then went back to the radio room. Joe Marlowe was calling me from Lunar Three. And what he had to say drove all other thoughts from my mind. His message came right from Corporation headquarters. "Please report," it said, "exact amount and probable value of cargo. Must have immediate reply."