Rip Foster Rides the Gray Planet by Blake Savage Edition 1, (December 20, 2006) Illustrated by E. Deane Cate Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. [Illustration: hard cover illustration] [Illustration: Front dust jacket] [Illustration: Back dust jacket] [Illustration: Inside cover] DUST JACKET BLURB "Foster, Lieutenant, R. I. P.," blared the voice horn, and five minutes later Rip Foster was off into space on an assignment more exciting than any he had ever imagined. He could hardly believe his ears. Could a green young Planeteer, just through his training, possibly carry out orders like these? Sunny space, what a trick it would be! From the moment Rip boards the space ship _Scorpius_ there is a thrill a minute. He and his nine daring Planeteers must cope with the merciless hazing of the spacemen commanding the ship, and they must outwit the desperate Connies, who threaten to plunge all of space into war. There are a thousand dangers to be faced in high vacuum—and all of this while carrying out an assignment that will take every reader’s breath away. [Illustration: Major Barris Faced Rip and the New Planeteers] Major Barris Faced Rip and the New Planeteers RIP FOSTER RIDES THE GRAY PLANET CHAPTER ONE - SCN SCORPIUS, SPACEBOUND A thousand miles above earth’s surface the great space platform sped from daylight into darkness. Once each two hours it circled the earth completely, spinning along through space like a mighty wheel of steel and plastic. Through a telescope from earth the platform seemed a lifeless, lonely disk, but within it, hundreds of spacemen and Planeteers went about their work. In a ready-room at the outer edge of the platform, a Planeteer officer faced a dozen slim, blackclad young men who wore the single golden orbits of lieutenants. This was a graduating class, already commissioned, having a final, informal get-together. The officer, who wore the three-orbit insignia of a major, was lean and trim. His hair was cropped short, like a gray fur skull cap. One cheek was marked with the crisp whiteness of an old radiation burn. "Stand easy," he ordered briskly. "The general instructions of the Special Order Squadrons say that it’s my duty as senior officer to make a farewell speech. I intend to make a speech if it kills me—and you, too." The dozen new officers facing him broke into grins. Major Joe Barris had been their friend, teacher, and senior officer during six long years of training on the space platform. He could no more make a formal speech than he could breathe high vacuum, and they all knew it. Lieutenant Richard Ingalls Peter Foster, whose initials had given him the nickname of "Rip," asked, "Why don’t you sing us a song instead, Joe?"