Brown sat in a fastened-down chair with thigh grips holding him in place. He was writing. On Joe's entry, he carefully put the pen down on a magnetized plate that would hold it until he wanted it again. Otherwise it could have floated anywhere about the room. "Mr. Kenmore," said Brown awkwardly, "you did a very nice piece of work. It's too bad you aren't in the Navy." Joe said: "It did work out pretty fortunately. It's lucky the Chief and I were out practicing, but now we can take off when a rocket's reported, any time." Brown cleared his throat. "I can thank you personally," he said unhappily, "and I do. But--really this situation is intolerable! How can I report this affair? I can't suggest commendation, or a promotion, or--anything! I don't even know how to refer to you! I am going to ask you, Mr. Kenmore, to put through a request that your status be clarified. I would imagine that your status would mean a rank--hm--about equivalent to a lieutenant junior grade in the Navy." Joe grinned. "I have--ah--prepared a draft you might find helpful," said Brown earnestly. "It's necessary for something to be done. It's urgent! It's important!" "Sorry," said Joe. "The important thing to me is getting ready to load up the Platform with supplies from Earth. Excuse me." He went out of the office. He made his way to the quarters assigned himself and his crew. Mike greeted him with reproachful eyes. Joe waved his hand. "Don't say it, Mike! The answer is yes. See that the tanks are refilled, and new rockets put in place. Then you and Haney go out and practice. But no farther than ten miles from the Platform. Understand?" "No!" said Mike rebelliously. "It's a dirty trick!" "Which," Joe assured him, "I commit only because there's a robot ship from Bootstrap coming up any time now. And we'll need to pick it up and tow it here." He went to the control-room to see if he could get a vision connection to Earth. He got the beam, and he got Sally on the screen. A report of the attack on the Platform had evidently already gone down to Earth. Sally's expression was somehow drawn and haunted. But she tried to talk lightly. "Derring-do and stuff, Joe?" she asked. "How does it feel to be a victorious warrior?" "It feels rotten," he told her. "There must have been somebody in the rocket we blew up. He felt like a patriot, I guess, trying to murder us; But I feel like a butcher." "Maybe you didn't do it," she said. "Maybe the Chief's bombs----" "Maybe," said Joe. He hesitated. "Hold up your hand." She held it up. His ring was still on it. She nodded. "Still there. When will you be back?" He shook his head. He didn't know. It was curious that one wanted so badly to talk to a girl after doing something that was blood-stirring--and left one rather sickish afterward. This business of space travel and even space battle was what he'd dreamed of, and he still wanted it. But it was very comforting to talk to Sally, who hadn't had to go through any of it.