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The first impulse towards this work by which Saxo was saved, is found in a letter from the Bishop of Roskild, Lave Urne, dated May 1512, to Christian Pederson, Canon of Lund, whom he compliments as a lover of letters, antiquary, and patriot, and urges to edit and publish "tam divinum latinae eruditionis culmen et splendorem Saxonem nostrum". Nearly two years afterwards Christian Pederson sent Lave Urne a copy of the first edition, now all printed, with an account of its history.
Rip and Koa stepped out and walked a little distance away. Santos and Pederson cast the landing boat adrift and shoved it away from the anchored boat. In a moment fire spurted from the bottom tube, spreading over the dull metal and licking at the feet of the Planeteers. Rip watched the boat rise upward to the great, sleek, dark bulk of the Scorpius.
SOS Seven is a new squadron, the first one organized exclusively for exploration duties, and I'm its commanding officer. Koa, you'll be my senior noncommissioned officer. I want you and Pederson with me, because you can organize the new recruits en route. They have a lot more to learn from you than they got in their two years of training. You'll make real Planeteers out of 'em."
He tried to sound calm, but the shakiness of triumph and excitement was in his voice. "All Planeteers. We have the Connie snapper-boats. Koa, bring your men here." He felt someone working on his arm and turned to see Corporal Pederson, his face one vast grin in the glare from Dowst’s belt light. "Koa didn’t need me," he said. Rip grinned back. "Nunez," he called. "How are things at the cave?"
"One is carrying a pneumatic chattergun. The rest have nothing in their hands." "Pederson, report." "No weapons I can see, sor." Koa looked at Rip. "They must think the asteroid is clean. Otherwise they’d have more than a chattergun in sight. You can bet they have knives and pistols, too." Rip had been playing with an idea. He tried it on his men.
They say you’re to report to Special Order Squadron Seven, on Ganymede. SOS Seven is a new squadron, the first one organized exclusively for exploration duties, and I’m its commanding officer. Koa, you’ll be my senior noncommissioned officer. I want you and Pederson with me because you can organize the new recruits enroute.
The rest have nothing." "Pederson, report." "No weapons I can see, sir." Koa looked at Rip. "They must think the asteroid is clean. Otherwise they'd have more than a chatter gun in sight. You can bet they have knives and pistols, too." Rip had been playing with an idea. He tried it on his men. "These Connies would be useful to us alive, if we could capture them." Dowst caught his meaning first.
Rip watched, interested in how his man would tackle the problem. He didn't know the answer himself, because he had never driven a spike on an airless world with almost no gravity, and no one had ever mentioned it to him. Pederson searched the gray metal with his torch and found a slender spur of thorium, perhaps two feet high, a short distance from the boat. "Here's a hold," he said.
Rip ran for the snapper-boat, feet moving as rapidly as lack of gravity would permit. He called instructions. "Santos! Turn the launcher over to Pederson and come with me. Koa, take over. Start throwing rockets at that boat and don’t stop until you run out of ammunition." He reached the snapper-boat and squeezed in, Santos close behind him. As he strapped himself into the seat he called, "Koa!
"We're after two more Connies near the wreck of the landing boat, sir." "Be careful. Pederson, go help Koa. Nunez, how are things at the cave?" "Nunez reporting, sir. Two Connies in sight, but they haven't seen us yet." "Let me know when they spot the cave." "Yes, sir." "Santos, go ahead." For long moments there was silence. Rip felt for a solid foothold, found one, and flexed his knees.
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