"What can anybody do?" asked Keg with spread hands. "About all we can do is to put it down in our remembrances and turn to tomorrow. Life goes on, you know," said Keg in a resigned tone, "and either we keep up or we begin to live in the past. Are you going to stay here for a day or two?" "Was thinking about it," said Don. "Well, suppose you register at the Terraland and meet me back here for lunch. If anything occurs, I'll shoot you a quickie." Keg looked at his watch and whistled. "Lordy," he said ruefully. "I didn't know how late it was. Look, kids, I'll run you downtown myself, and we'll all have lunch at the Terraland. How's that?" "Sounds better," admitted Channing. "My appetite, you know." "I know," laughed Arden. "Come on, meat-eater, and we'll peel a calf." It was during lunch that a messenger raced into the dining room and handed Keg a letter. Keg read, and then swore roundly. He tossed the letter across the table to Don and Arden. To the Operators of all Spacelines: It has come to my attention that your ships require protection. The absence of the _Solar Queen_ is proof enough that your efforts are insufficient to insure the arrival of a spaceship at its destination. I am capable of offering protection at the reasonable rate of one dollar solarian for every gross ton, with the return of ten dollars solarian if any ship fails to come through safely. I think that you may find it necessary to subscribe to my insurance, since without my protection I cannot be responsible for failures. ALLISON (HELLION) MURDOCH. "Why the dirty racketeer," stormed Arden. "Who is he, anyway?" "Hellion Murdoch is a man of considerable ability as a surgeon and a theoretical physicist," explained Don. "He was sentenced to the gas chamber ten years ago for trying some of his theories out on human beings without their consent. He escaped with the aid of fifteen or twenty of his cohorts who had stolen the _Hippocrates_ right out of the private spaceport of the Solarian Medical Research Institute." "And they headed for the unknown," offered Keg. "Wonder where they've been for the last ten years." "I'll bet a hat that they've been in the Melapalan Jungle, using the machine shop of the _Hippocrates_ to fashion guns. That machine shop was a dilly, if I remember correctly." "It was. The whole ship was just made to be as self-sustaining as it could be. They used to run all over the System in it, you know, chasing bugs. But look, Don, if I were you, I'd begin worrying about Venus Equilateral. That's where he'll hit next." "You're right. But what are you going to do?" "Something that will drive him right out to the Relay Station," said Keg in a sorrowful tone. "Sorry, Don, but when I put an end to all space shipping for a period of six weeks, Hellion Murdoch will be sitting in your lap." "He sure will," said Channing nervously. "Arden, are you willing to run a gantlet?"