The men of the Special Order Squadrons, searching for a handy nickname, had called themselves Planeteers, because most of their work was on the planets. As Major Joe Barris had told the officers of Rip’s class, "You might say that the spacemen own space, but we Planeteers own everything solid that’s found in it." The Planeteers were the specialists—in science, exploration, colonization, and fighting. The spacemen carried them back and forth, kept them supplied, and handled their message traffic. The Planeteers did the hard work and the important work. Or so they believed. To become a Planeteer, a recruit had to pass rigid intelligence, physical, aptitude, and psychological tests. Less than 15 out of each 100 who applied were chosen. Then there were two years of hard training on the space platform and the moon before a recruit was finally accepted as a Planeteer private. Out of each 15 who started training, an average of five fell by the wayside. For Planeteer officers, the requirements were even tougher. Only one out of each 500 applicants finally received a commission. Six years of training made them proficient in the techniques of exploration, fighting, rocketeering, and both navigation and astrogation. In addition, each became a full-fledged specialist in one field of science. Rip’s specialty was astrophysics. Sergeant-major Koa continued, "That business on the _Icarus_ started the war, but both sides have been feeding it ever since. I have to admit that we Planeteers lord it over the spacemen like we were old man Cosmos himself. So they get back at us with dirty little tricks while we’re on their ships. We command on the planets, but they command in space. And they sure get a great big nuclear charge out of commanding us to do the dirty work!" "We’ll take whatever they hand us," Rip assured him, "and pretend we like it fine." He gestured at the other Planeteers. "Tell me about the men, Koa." "They’re a fine bunch, sir. I hand-picked them myself. The one with the white hair is Corporal Nels Pederson. He’s a Swede. I served with him at Marsport, and he’s a real rough space spickaroo in a fight. The other corporal is little Paulo Santos. He’s a Filipino, and the best snapper-boat gunner you ever saw." He pointed out the six privates. Kemp and Dowst were Americans. Bradshaw was an Englishman, Trudeau a Frenchman, Dominico an Italian, and Nunez a Brazilian. Rip liked their looks. They were as relaxed as acceleration would allow, but you got the impression that they would leap into action in a microsecond if the word were given. He couldn’t imagine what kind of assignment was waiting, but he was satisfied with his Planeteers. They looked capable of anything.