Durk's laugh made the short hairs on Rawson's neck tingle. But Rawson snapped back in a voice that he tried to hold steady. "You're an excellent underofficer, Durk--when you obey commands. But you'll never be captain!" * * * * * The space ship was plunging forward like a running blindman, directly into the belt of minor planets. "Awh--I got a right!" Durk cried bitterly. "Ain't I been second in command for ten years? I know all the ropes--" "You lack training in science and mathematics. That's vital these days!" "I'll be captain yet. Wait and see! Yah can't arrest me. The crew won't take your orders without my say-so. And yah can't report me. It's yore word against me and the crew!" Rawson lifted his chin courageously. He knew Durk spoke the truth. And he knew that he'd never break Durk by force-- Fighting the man's will would only build up the volcano pressure inside him more intensely. Rawson determined on a psychological trick. He would allow Durk his chance at command. "Very well, Mr. Durk. Let's see what you can do." He spoke with forced calm. "Take command." Rawson's crane-like legs patted on the jerking deck of the space ship, and as he entered his cabin he was smiling grimly to himself. He sat down in darkness, and his smile widened when the emergency lights flashed on. Durk was a good man for things like that. Rawson was turning over some papers on his desk when a young cyclone burst through the open door without knocking. "Captain, sir!" young Seymour cried, bounding forward. "I overheard--" Rawson snapped to his feet. "Mr. Seymour, attention! Please leave and enter like a gentleman." The cabin boy folded up like a tornado that had lost its wind. Meekly he turned and walked out of the cabin, closed the door. A rap sounded. "Come in." As Seymour entered, Rawson hastily turned the sheet of paper on his desk face down. He greeted the young man with a smile. "That's better. Always be a gentleman. If for no one's but your own self-respect." "Yes, sir." Seymour had troubled eyes. "I came to report I overheard the crew talking. Said somethin' about taking over. I don't get it, sir. Does it mean mutiny?" Rawson shot one word at the cabin boy. "Durk?" "Yes, sir. It was him said it." "You know you're a stool pigeon?" The boy's freckled face looked flustered. "I--I didn't mean, sir--that is." He gulped. "I thought it was my duty, sir." Rawson smiled and there was fatherly tenderness in his voice. "Good, Mr. Seymour. I like your loyalty. You'll make a Star Point man yet." Rawson picked up the paper from his desk. "I have just signed a recommendation that you be admitted to the class of the year 2356." Young Seymour's freckled face spread wide in a grin--so wide that it drowned out his face. "Gee, sir. Thanks. Gee! _Star Point!_" "I've been keeping an eye on you," Rawson continued. "I saw you studying in your spare time."