Commander O’Brine stared for a moment, then he 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 blue 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, then toss you in the spacepot 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." The doctor answered Rip’s question. "Your men are all right. We put the one with the cracked bubble into high compression for a while, just to relieve his pain a little. The other one didn’t bleed much. He’s back in the squadroom right now. Two of the prisoners are patched up, but the third one is in the other operating room. I don’t know whether we can save him or not. We’re trying." O’Brine nodded. "Thanks, doctor. Now, Foster, start talking. You fired on this ship, scored a hit, and broke the airseal. No casualties, fortunately. But by forcing us to accelerate at optimum speed, you caused so much breakage of ship’s stores that we’ll have to put into Marsport for new stocks. And on top of all that, you insulted me within the hearing of every man on the ship. I don’t mind being insulted by Planeteers. I’m used to it. But when it’s done over the ship’s communications system, it’s bad for discipline." Rip tried to keep a straight face. He said mildly, "Sir, I’m surprised you even give me a chance to explain." "I wouldn’t have," O’Brine said frankly. "I would have shot off a special message to earth relieving you of command and asking for Discipline Board action. But when I saw those Connie prisoners, I knew there was more to this than just a young space-pup going vack-wacky."