The landing boats, loaded with Planeteers and Connies, lifted from the asteroid to the cruiser. They slid smoothly into the air locks and settled. The massive lock doors slid closed and lights flickered on. Rip waited, trying to keep consciousness from slipping away. The lock gauges registered normal air, and the inner valves slid open. Commander O'Brine stepped through, his square jaw outthrust and his face flushed with anger. He bellowed, "Where's Foster?" His voice was so loud that Rip heard him even through the bubble. He stepped out of the boat and faced the irate commander. O'Brine ordered, "Get him out of that suit." Two spacemen jumped forward. One twisted Rip's bubble free and lifted it off. The heavy air of the ship hit him with physical force. O'Brine grated, "You're under arrest, Foster, for firing on the _Scorpius_, for insubordination, and for conduct unbecoming an officer. Get out of that suit and get flaming. It's the space pot for you." Rip had to grin. He couldn't help it. He started to reply, but the heavy air of the cruiser, so much richer and denser than that of the suits, was too much. He fell, unconscious. There was no gravity to pull him to the floor, but the action of his relaxing muscles swung him slowly until he lay facedown in the air a few feet above the floor. Commander O'Brine stared for a moment, then took the unconscious Planeteer and swung him upright. His quick eyes took in the patch on the arm, the safety line tied tightly. He roared, "Quick! Get him to the wound ward!" * * * * * Rip came back to consciousness on the operating table. The wound in his arm had been neatly repaired, and below the wound, where his arm had frozen, a plastic temperature bag was slowly bringing the cold flesh back to normal. On his other side, a pulsing pressure pump forced new blood from the ship's supplies into his veins. A senior space officer, with the golden lancet of the medical service on his tunic, bent over him. "How do you feel?" Rip's voice surprised him. It was as full and strong as ever. "I feel wonderful. Can I get up?" "When we get enough blood into you, and your arm is fully restored." Commander O'Brine appeared in the door frame. "Can he talk?" "Yes. He's fine, sir." O'Brine glared down at Rip. "Can you give me a good reason why I shouldn't have you treated for space madness and then toss you in the space pot until we reach Earth?" "Best reason in the galaxy," Rip said cheerfully. "But before we talk about it, I want to know how my men are. One got cut, and another had his bubble cracked. Also, one of the Connies got badly cut, another had some broken bones, and a third one bled into high vack when Koa cracked his bubble."