The steward looked thoughtful. “We’ve got to figure out a way to keep you from being discovered until we return to Earth. That way, you’ll have had time to help out and pay your way. It’ll go easier with you when you turn yourself in.” Then he frowned. “What about your family, though? They’ll surely be worried about you.” “I don’t have a family,” Jim told him. “I’m an orphan, and I’ve been on my own for two years. Don’t you think I ought to make a clean breast of everything to the captain now and hope he’ll believe me?” The steward shook his head emphatically. “Not _this_ captain. Not Captain Coppard. He’s a stickler for regulations. He’d never believe your story. If he does find out, you’ll be on prison rations for the rest of the trip!” “What’ll I do, then?” Jim asked, suddenly feeling very dependent on the young man he faced. The steward’s forehead creased in a frown. “The captain doesn’t know the steward crew too well because there were some last-minute substitutions. I think you’d do best to become a steward and work out your passage that way.” A steward on a space ship! The idea of it thrilled Jim so much that he almost forgot the seriousness of his situation. He wondered how he’d look in the neat starched white that the steward in front of him wore. “First, I think we ought to get acquainted,” his new friend said. He extended a workingman’s strong grip, and Jim took it. “My name is Al Hogan. Everybody calls me ‘Babe’ because of my face.” He grinned boyishly. “I’m Jim Vance,” Jim said. “You’ll make a good steward, Jim,” Babe declared. “My job depends on being able to spot good men.” “How’s that?” Jim asked. “I’m chief steward in charge of personnel aboard the _Hercules_,” the other replied. “It’s lucky for you that I saw you first. I can hire you without your having to see anyone else.” “That’s one thing in my favor,” Jim said with relief. “I’m afraid there’s one more strike against you, though, Jim,” Babe said. “What’s that?” “You’ve ‘bumped’ the most important man in the space tourist business, and that isn’t good.” “What do you mean?” Jim asked. “I mean this suite was Mr. Bowers’, the owner of Venus Space Tours, Incorporated.” “Why didn’t he come aboard in time for the blast-off?” Jim wanted to know. “Mr. Bowers depends on the stewards to let him know just ahead of time because he usually has a lot of last-minute things to do.” “I didn’t even know who he was!” Jim said. “Wow, what a mistake to make!” “Lucky for the _Hercules_, though,” Babe remarked, “your weight has canceled out his. There’s another rub, though. Mr. Bowers may have the Miami port radio us that you’re aboard. That would expose you for sure.” Jim had an idea that his career as a spaceman was going to be extremely brief. Babe showed him how to navigate in the state of no gravity. By kicking out rearward, he could shoot himself along almost as smoothly as a fish in water.