Ross quickened his step. If he ever did get off this planet, it would have to be today; he was not fool enough to think that any ordinary day would give him the freedom to poke around the spaceport’s defenses. And it would be just his luck, he thought bitterly, to get involved in a gang fight on the way to the port. There was a squeal of tires behind him, and a little vehicle screeched to a halt. Ross threw up a defensive arm in automatic reflex. But it was only Helena, awkwardly fumbling open the door of the car. “Get in,” she said sourly. “You’ve spoiled _my_ Holiday. Might as well do what _you_ want to do.” * * * * * “What’s that?” Helena looked where he was pointing, and shrugged. “Guard box,” she guessed. “How would I know? Nobody’s in it, anyhow.” Ross nodded. They had abandoned the car and were standing outside a long, seamless fence that surrounded the spaceport. The main gates were closed and locked; a few hundred feet to the right was a smaller gate with a sort of pillbox, but that had every appearance of being locked too. “All right,” said Ross. “See that shed with the boxes outside it? Over we go.” The shed was right up against the fence; the metal boxes gave a sort of rough and just barely climbable foothold. Helena was easy enough to lift to the top of the shed; Ross, grunting, managed to clamber after her. They looked down at the ground on the other side, a dozen feet away. “You don’t have to come along,” Ross told her. “That’s just _like_ you!” she flared. “Cast me aside—trample on me!” “All right, all right.” Ross looked around, but neither junior nor elder was anywhere in sight. “Hang by your hands and then drop,” he advised her. “Get moving before somebody shows up.” “On Holiday?” she asked bitterly. She squirmed over the narrow top of the fence, legs dangling, let herself down as far as she could, and let go. Ross watched anxiously, but she got up quickly enough and moved to one side. Ross plopped down next to her, knocking the wind out of himself. He got up dizzily. His ship, in lonesome quiet, was less than a quarter of a mile away. “Let’s go,” Ross panted, and clutched her hand. They skirted another shed and were in the clear, running as fast as they could. Almost in the clear. Ross heard the whine of the little scooter before he felt the blow, but it was too late. He sprawled on the ground, dragging Helena after him. A Senior Citizen with a long-handled rod of the sort Ross remembered all too well was scowling down at them. “Children,” he rumbled through his breast-speaker in a voice of awful disgust, “is this the way to act on Holiday?” Helena, gibbering in terror, was beyond words. Ross croaked, “Sorry, sir. We—we were just——”