Working in a frenzy of fear and need for haste, Meek took off the plate that sealed the housing of the rear rocket assembly. Breath hissing in his throat, he fought the burrs that anchored the tubes. There were a lot of them and they didn't come off easily. Rockets had to be anchored securely ... securely enough so the blast of atomic fire within their chambers wouldn't rip them free. Meanwhile, the ship piled up the score. Loose burrs rolled and danced along the floor and Meek knew the ship was in the thick of play again. Then they were curving back. Another goal! Suddenly the rocket assembly shook a little, began to vibrate. Wielding the wrench like a madman, knowing he had seconds at the most, Meek spun two or three more bolts, then dropped the wrench and ran. Leaping for a hole from which a plate had been torn, he caught a rib, swung with every ounce of power he had, launching himself into space. His right hand fumbled for the switch of the suit's rocket motor, found it, snapped it on to full acceleration. Something seemed to hit him on the head and he sailed into the depths of blackness. VI Billy Jones sat in the office of the repair shop, cigarette dangling from his lip, pouring smoke into his watery eye. "Never saw anything like it in my life," he declared. "How he made that ship go at all with half the plates ripped off is way beyond me." The dungareed mechanic sighted along the toes of his shoes, planted comfortably on the desk. "Let me tell you, mister," he declared, "the solar system never has known a pilot like him ... never will again. He brought his ship down here with the instruments knocked out. Dead reckoning." "Wrote a great piece about him," Billy said. "How he died in the best tradition of space. Stuff like that. The readers will eat it up. The way that ship let go he didn't have a chance. Seemed to go out of control all at once and went weaving and bucking almost into Saturn. Then blooey ... that's the end of it. One big splash of flame." The mechanic squinted carefully at his toes. "They're still out there, messing around," he said, "But they'll never find him. When that ship blew up he was scattered halfway out to Pluto." The inner lock swung open ponderously and a spacesuited figure stepped in. They waited while he snapped back his helmet. "Good evening, gentlemen," said Oliver Meek. They stared, slack-jawed. Jones was the first to recover. "But it can't be you! Your ship ... it exploded!" "I know," said Meek. "I got out just before it went. Turned on my suit rocket full blast. Knocked me out. By the time I come to I was halfway out to the second Ring. Took me awhile to get back." He turned to the mechanic. "Maybe you have a second hand suit you would sell me. I have to get rid of this one. Has some bugs in it." "Bugs? Oh, yes, I see. You mean something's wrong with it." "That's it," said Meek. "Something's wrong with it."