The man showed irritation. "Young lady," he told Ginger very sternly, "I must at this point advise you that my life is not on file at Matrix Center, and that any contemplated execution of me would constitute murder. Irrevocable murder." "This guy speaks like a lawyer," Jeanette murmured in my ear. "Better investigate." "What kind of identification did you find on him?" I asked Ginger. "Oh, a bunch of papers saying he was an assistant professor at Mars University. But those are easily forged." "A professor, eh? What's your field? What are you doing here?" He stared at me with a kind of superior smile. I had the vague feeling I'd seen him before, which is ridiculous: I've never been on Mars. "Ah, at last some intelligent questions. My field, young lady, is sociology. I happen to be doing some research on juvenile delinquency, which is why I came here. Lewis Worth is my name. Are you perhaps the leader of this gang? If so, I would appreciate your help." Ginger snorted. "What a fantastic line!" Naomi looked at me quizzically. Was I in fact the leader? I hedged. "Look, Ginger. There isn't time to investigate his story. Right now, Naomi and I have a little mission to accomplish. So keep this guy under guard until we get back." Deep down in me I felt resentment about all this tact I had to use. Why _shouldn't_ I be the leader? The girls instinctively looked to me, obeyed me. Why _shouldn't_ I be the one to give orders, make decisions? This pretense of shared leadership with Naomi could only last a day, two days, a week at most. And then would come the final showdown. * * * * * We rocketed into orbit with Jupiter's innermost satellite--I piloting, Naomi astrogating. Io showed up like a pea-sized blemish against the bloated planetary face, whirled into tan-grey zones of supercold methane by thousand-mile-per-hour helium tradewinds. Jupiter the heavy, inhospitable. Almost beneath us now, the boys' domed hangout glowed dully green in the feeble Jovian sunlight. Naomi readied the missile launchers. Seconds later, before we were within firing range, the first of the boys' space cruisers zoomed up to intercept us. They were ready for our ship but not our strategy. Down we plunged in a searing power dive, straight for the hangout's vulnerable airlock. Missiles exploded on all sides of us, harmlessly, as our phantom target defense went automatically to work. Our radio crackled with barked commands and alarmed oaths between the boys' ships and Io headquarters. "Zero range!" "They're coming in!" "Damn those girls!" "Look out! We can't stop them!" "It's a suicide dive! Man your crash stations!" We dropped down, inches above ground level of the airless moon, our nose pointed like a needle at the green bubble. Suddenly I braked our speed with reverse rockets, bruising my ribs with deceleration. "Fire!" I shouted.