"It's no experiment," Steve told him coldly. "It works." "I still say we ought to--" "Clobber them, I know," Teejay finished for him. "If there's any clobbering to be done, LeClarc, I'll let you know. Meanwhile, we're trying Stedman's plan. Any further questions?" And, when no one spoke: "Good. Mac, I want you to let Mr. Simonson and Stedman pick three men to help 'em. You're to divide the rest of us into groups of half a dozen each, with each group serving under a leader. I'll give each leader a designated area in that square, so there won't be a lot of bumbling around when we land on Ganymede. LeClarc!" "Yes, Captain?" "Take yourself a group of three idle technicians and check all the vac-suits. If there's any trouble, make sure it's repaired before we land. What are you gawking at me like that for?" "I only thought--" "What? What did you think? Speak up, man!" "I thought you would have a job of more import for me. Had you, for example, decided that we ought to clobber--" "Clobber, clobber, clobber! Will you shut up and get to work?" "Yes, Captain." And more than a little stooped of shoulder, LeClarc left the lounge. Teejay didn't pause for breath. "You, Stedman! What's so funny? What are you laughing about?" "Nothing. It's just the way LeClarc--" "Forget it, before _you_ get clobbered." * * * * * Ganymede. After the landing, an unreasoning fear gripped Steve tightly. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on, but he felt it gnawing at the fringes of his mind, probing, seeking, thrusting for a way in. There was nothing to be afraid of, and Steve smoked one cigarette after another while the six-man parties disembarked to take up their beater-stations on the edges of the square. Ganymede, he recited to himself, is the largest satellite in the Solar System. 664,200 miles from Jupiter, it has a diameter of thirty two hundred and six miles, or bigger than the planet Mercury and almost as large as Pluto. It swings around Jupiter in a little over seven Earth days and in appearance the moonscape's enough like Luna to be a twin-brother, except for fat, bloated Jupiter hanging in the sky. What was there to be afraid of? Steve didn't know. His brother had died on Ganymede--and the circumstances of Charlie's death still bordered on the mysterious. Well, he'd see for himself about that. Did the fear crawl around the edges of his brain because he thought Teejay was responsible? But that didn't make sense, for to a certain degree he'd thought that all along. Unless the appalling thought of having to fight Teejay and her whole loyal crew had taken hold of him unconsciously. "What are you moping about, boy?" "Huh? Oh, Kevin. Nothing much, I guess. I--" "You look to me like you've seen a ghost. What is it, scared?" "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." "So what? Buck up, boy." "I don't want to be scared, Kevin." "Who does?" "That's not what I mean. It's one thing to say that if you aren't--"