It would have taken all spacemen present about ten days to complete the job by regular methods, but the electronic computer produced the answer in three minutes. "Thanks a million, Chief," Rip said. "I'll be calling on you again before this is over." He tucked the sheets into his pocket. "Anytime, Lieutenant. We'll keep rechecking the figures as we go along. If there are any corrections, we'll send them to you. That will give you a check on your own figures." "Don't worry," Rip assured him, "we're going to have plenty of corrections before we're through." Deceleration had been dropping steadily. It ceased altogether, leaving them weightless. O'Brine's voice came over the speaker. "Get it! Valve crews take stations at landing boats five and six. The Planeteers will depart in five minutes. Lieutenant Foster will report to central control if he cannot be ready in that time." Santos grinned at Rip. "Here we go, Lieutenant." Rip's heart would have dropped into his shoes if there had been any gravity. Only a little excitement showed on his face, though. He waved his thanks at the analysts and grinned back at Santos. "Show an exhaust, Corporal. High vack is waiting!" CHAPTER SIX Rip's Planet Rip rechecked his space suit before putting on his helmet. The air seal was intact, and his heating and ventilating units worked. He slapped his knee pouches to make sure the space knife was handy to his left hand, the pistol to his right. Koa was already fully dressed. He handed Rip the shoulder case that contained the plotting board. Santos had taken charge of Rip's astrogation instruments. A spaceman was waiting with Rip's bubble. At a nod, the spaceman slipped it on his head. Rip reached up and gave it a quarter turn. The locking mechanism clamped into place. He turned his belt ventilator control on full, and the space suit puffed out. When it was fully inflated, he watched the pressure gauge. It was steady. No leaks in suit or helmet. He let the pressure go down to normal. Koa's voice buzzed in his ears. "Hear me, sir?" Rip adjusted the volume of his communicator and replied, "I hear you. Am I clear?" "Yessir. All men dressed and ready." Rip made a final check. He counted his men, then personally inspected their suits. The boats were next. They were typical landing craft, shaped like rectangular boxes. There was no need for streamlining in the vacuum of space. They were not pressurized. Only men in space suits rode in the ungainly boxes. He checked all blast tubes to make sure they were clear. There were small single tubes on each side of the craft. A clogged one could explode and blow the boat up. Koa, he knew, had checked everything, but the final responsibility was his. In space, no officer took anyone's word for anything that might mean lives. Each checked every detail personally.