"Don't start that again!" Jak roared. "You told me a--a dis-truth! What an act! You ought to be in tridies. At two months, Lar BW16177 on Hungaria looked like--You wanted to go to Earth because of that prize in the Photographic Salon! You wanted to taste your fame. What are you trying to do, ruin me? You don't need the Wollongong Obstetric Hospital any more than I do! I'm going back to the Rings, and you can sit on Callisto till you--yes, till you death yourself!" "Jak," Drusilla murmured. "I never knew you could be so domineering, so," she giggled the naughty word, "masculine." "Silence!" Jak bellowed. He darted down the passage to quarters and spurted back carrying a gray uniform soaked with tomato juice. He snarled, "I told you to clean this! Now do it!" The silver crescent and rocket emblem of the Space Patrol still glittered through the stain. Beneath that crest appeared Jak's serial number, SP34509260.