"I've made up my mind," Freedman said. "I've threatened to leave a dozen times. It isn't you. It isn't anyone. Or, for that matter, anything special. I'm fed up on the job and I want something exciting. The Warrior Patrol is my meat." Folley found a cigar and lighted it. He seemed to relax a little. He was getting ready to argue the case. Freedman knew he couldn't escape the argument. He had too much respect for Pete Folley to walk out on him. "Remember, Pete," he said, "I've made up my mind this time. The old pep talk won't do any good. I'm fed up." Folley was stubborn. He found a piece of paper and a pen-stick. "Watch this, Blair," he said, and made a little _x_ in the right side of the paper. "Vestena," he said, pointing to the _x_. "The strongest satellite in the outer area." On the left side of the sheet he put another _x_. "Parma," he said. "The gold satellite--power of the system." He blacked in the center with a heavy series of lines. "Now then," he said slowly, "I'm trying to show you that this job _is_ important. Get me straight. I know it's no cinch to go through that damned tunnel twice a day, week after week. To blast the Cutter through, pushing aside asteroids and slaving in the dark. "But listen to me, Blair. You got it all wrong. You say yourself that there's a war heading up between Parma and Vestena. If war comes there'll be a lot of glory for the Warrior Patrol. You'll be big stuff. You'll be a great guy. _But did it ever occur to you how Vestena plans to attack Parma?_" He paused dramatically, then plunged on with his story. "Vestena fighters have to fly the long route, fifteen thousand miles around the asteroid belt. They can't do that. The supply line is too long. They think they're coming through the tunnel." Freedman shook his head. "Simple problem," he said. "We'll close the tunnel. They haven't the brains or equipment to re-open it again." Folley shook his head. "We can't do that, son. When Planet Control gave us the contract for the tunnel, it collected vast sums of money from the fifteen associated satellites. Now war is coming between _two_ of those satellites. The others still hold a huge interest in the tunnel. Business has to go on as usual between those other satellites. It can't stop. The tunnel has to be kept open. It will be." "How?" Freedman asked. "By an independent fighting group. By Tunnel Control." Freedman shook his head. "Sorry, Pete. It's a good argument, but it just isn't good enough. I need lots of void to move in, Pete. I need the thunder of guns and the taste of flame. Can't get it out of my system. Maybe, when it's over...?" Pete Folley swore. "Graham told me it was no good arguing with you," he said in a low voice. "Okay, Blair, desert us. Run away and join the damned army. But don't come sniveling back to me when it's over. We'll fight our battles without you. When we've finished, there'll be no place for a guy who walked out on us."