A junior space officer hid a grin and murmured, "Looks like the Planeteers still have the asteroid." O’Brine bent over the communicator and yelled, "Deputy commander! Launch landing boats. Get those Planeteers and bring them here, under armed guard. Ram it!" The snapper-boat pilot through whose circuit Rip had yelled turned to look wide-eyed at his gunner. "Did you hear that? Throw a light down on the asteroid. It must have come from there." The gunner threw a switch and a searchlight port opened in the boat’s belly. Its beam searched downward, swept past, then steadied on two space-clad figures. "It worked," Rip said tiredly. He closed his eyes to guard them against the brilliant glare, then waved his good arm. Santos called from the cave entrance. "Sir, landing boats are being launched!" "Bring out the prisoners," Rip ordered. "Line them up. Planeteers fall in behind them." The landing boats, with snapper-boats in watchful attendance, blasted down to the surface of the asteroid. Spacemen jumped out, awkward at first on the no-weight surface. An officer glided to meet Rip, and he had a pistol in his hand. "It’s all right," Rip told him. "The Connies are our prisoners. You won’t need guns." The spaceman snapped, "You’re under arrest." Rip stared incredulously. "What for?" "The commander’s orders. Don’t give me any arguments. Just get aboard." "I can’t argue with a loaded gun," Rip said wearily. He called to his men. "We’re under arrest. I don’t know why. Don’t try to resist. Do as the spacemen order." Rip got aboard the nearest landing boat, his head spinning. O’Brine had made a mistake of some kind. 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 Rip heard him faintly even through the bubble. He stepped out of the landing 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 spacepot 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 slumped unconscious. There was no gravity to pull him to the floor, but the action of his relaxing muscles swung him slowly until he lay face down in the air a few feet above the floor.