He hadn't gone so far to be recaptured so easily. As they passed an exit door, Plato darted out. He heard the waiter's surprised shout, but he didn't wait to reply. In a second, he had lost himself in the crowd. He knew now that if he was going to get aboard an interstellar vessel, he would have to do so soon. What would Comets Carter have done in Plato's place--if Comets had been in one of his brighter moods? And then he had it. He saw a messenger coming down the street, gleaming in his uniform, and, somewhat nervously, approached him. "May I speak to you?" asked Plato, with school-taught politeness. "What about, bud? I'm busy." "Well, I've been wanting to get Captain Halverson's autograph. He's on the _Space Symphony_--" "So what?" "Well, the thing is, they won't let me past the gate. So I thought that if I wore a messenger's uniform--" The other boy glared at him. "Are you off your Norbert? I wouldn't let you wear this uniform for a zillion credits." Plato swallowed nervously, and said in desperation, "I don't have a zillion credits, but I've got eight, and I'll give them to you if you let me wear it. Just half an hour, that's all it'll take. It's the last chance I'll have to ask him. He's bound for Rigel, and he won't be back for five years, and you see--" His voice tapered to a thin, tearful squeak as the messenger looked at him. "You're offering me eight space-lousy credits?" "It's all I have. We'll just change clothes for a few minutes, and that'll be all. Please, I've got to see him. I know that if I do, he'll give me his autograph." "Okay," said the messenger unexpectedly. "But hurry back. I'll be at the gate waiting for you." * * * * * As they exchanged clothes, Plato was almost feverish with excitement. But he knew that if he expected to get past the guard, he would have to control himself. The clothes didn't fit too well, even though the messenger was small, and he must do nothing that would arouse the guard's suspicion. He said to the messenger, "Gee, thanks. You don't know how much this means to me." And then, with a mental grip on himself so tense that it hurt physically, he approached the guard, and said casually, "Earth 'gram for Captain Halverson." The guard hardly looked at him. He was past the gate! He had been tricky again. Once out of sight of the guard, he made not for the _Space Symphony_, but for the _Long Ranger_, bound for Aldebaran. "Earth 'gram for Captain Brinjar," he muttered, doing his best to look bored, as if delivering 'grams to ships was an old thing to him. And then he was aboard! It was not quite what he expected. The smooth walls were such as he might have found in his own dormitory. The quarters, he saw, were cramped, although for someone his size they were at least adequate. And the passageways, although brilliantly lighted, were mere narrow tunnels.