I knew what he was thinking, and I felt a swift pang of compassion for the old boy. Hanson was one of the finest skippers who ever paced a quarterdeck. He had forgotten more space-lore than most men ever learn. But he wasn't as young as he used to be; not by about fifty odd years. Although Cap _looked_ hale and hearty, his joints were beginning to stiffen like a mud-pie on Mercury, and sometimes, if you stood beside him in a quiet room, you could hear the dim clank and clatter of his arteries hardening. A physical examination might mean an end to his long career, exile from active service to the waffletail job he had long dreaded. * * * * * But old P. B. who, being an Earth-lubber, didn't know what grounding means to a true spaceman, just smiled. "That's right, Captain. Every member of the command and crew is being examined. You see, the company is removing the _Saturn_ from the freighter service--" Removing! That was Jolt No. 2! Words got as far as my tonsils--and clogged there. But Biggs' uncle continued blandly: "--and because of its magnificent service record on behalf of the Corporation, your ship is being assigned to new duties. Henceforth, the _Saturn_ will lift gravs only on special tasks, assignments of vital importance which have proven too difficult for ordinary vessels of the fleet." Well! That was something like! At last our efforts--or should I say the whackypot genius of Lancelot Biggs?--had earned us recognition. My weskit buttons tugged at their moorings; and glancing at my comrades, I saw they shared my pride. Cap Hanson's huge grin threatened to slice off the top of his head, while Lancelot Biggs' sensitive Adam's-apple was galloping up and down in his throat like a runaway yo-yo. "Well, now!" said Hanson, gratified. "That bein' the case, I can quite understand why physical exams are necessary, sir. But do you feel that _everyone_--?" "Everyone," nodded the Vice-president, "from highest to lowest. Everyone aboard this ship. Yes, Captain Hanson. Those orders have been issued, and cannot be altered." Biggs gurgled happily, "Tell them what our first assignment is, Uncle Prenny." "Ah, yes. Of course, Lancelot. Captain Hanson, you are doubtless cognizant of the--er--delicate situation upon the planetoid Iris?" "Delicate!" I snorted. Of course Cap knew about it. We all did. It was the top-ranking scandal of the decade. A group of privateers, seeking a base from which to pursue their nefarious exploits, had established themselves upon innocent, helpless little Iris. There, though it was plain to everyone that the diminutive, rodent-like Irisians were being actually held in peonage, the corsairs had set up a puppet government, thereby procuring territorial rights against which the Interplanetary Council could not file demurrer. So: