The gauge on the wall registered safety and they unfastened the protective clasps of the suits. Standing the cumbersome things against the wall as the inner door to the lock rolled back, they walked into Eysie territory. As Free Traders they had the advantage of being uniformly tunicked--with no Company badge to betray their ship or status. So that could well _be_ the "Polestar" standing needle slim behind them--and not the notorious "Solar Queen." But each, as he passed through the inner lock, gave a hitch to his belt which brought the butt of his sleep rod closer to hand. Innocuous as that weapon was, in close quarters its effects, if only temporary, was to some purpose. And since they were prepared for trouble, they might have a slight edge over the Eysies in attack. A Company man, his tunic shabby and open in a negligent fashion at his thick throat, stood waiting for them. His unhelmeted head was grizzled, his coarse, tanned face with heavy jowls bristly enough to suggest he had not bothered to use smooth-cream for some days. An under officer of some spacer, retired to finish out the few years before pension in this nominal duty--fast letting down the standards of personal regime he had had to maintain on ship board. But he wasn't all fat and soft living, the glance with which he measured them was shrewdly appraising. "What's your trouble?" he demanded without greeting. "You didn't I-dent coming in." "Coms are out," Rip replied as shortly. "We need E-Hydro--" "First time I ever heard it that the coms were wired in with the grass," the Eysies's hands were on his hips--in close proximity to something which made Dane's eyes narrow. The fellow was wearing a flare-blaster! That might be regulation equipment for an E-Stat agent on a lonely asteroid--but he didn't quite believe it. And probably the other was quick on the draw too. "The coms are something else," Rip answered readily. "Our tech is working on them. But the hydro's bad all though. We'll have to dump and restock. Give you a voucher on Terra for the stuff." The Eysie agent continued to block the doorway into the station. "This is private--I-S property. You should hit the Patrol post--they cater to you F-Ts." "We hit the nearest E-Stat when we discovered that we were contaminated," Rip spoke with an assumption of patience. "That's the law, and you know it. You have to supply us and take a voucher--" "How do I know that your voucher is worth the film it's recorded on?" asked the agent reasonably. "All right," Rip shrugged. "If we have to do it the hard way, we'll cargo dump to cover your bill." "Not on this field." The other shook his head. "I'll flash in your voucher first."