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Updated: May 28, 2025
Air flooded into the chamber, and the lights flicked on. The space officer gave Rip a hand out of the harness, and the young Planeteer went through the hatch to the deck. The inner valve opened, and a lean, sandy-haired officer in space blue, with the insignia of a commander, stepped through. Grinning, he hurried to Rip's side and twisted his bubble, lifting it off. "Hurry, lad," he greeted Rip.
Rip had him, and he knew it. "He thought even a stupid Planeteer had sense enough to obey radiation safety rules," he yelled. "He was wrong," Rip said gently. Then, just to make himself perfectly clear, he added, "Commander O’Brine was within his rights when he made us rake radiation. But he forgot one thing. Planeteers know the regulations, too. Excuse me, sir.
The Planeteer officer knows what Brennschluss is. He doesn't look old enough to know which end his bubble goes on." Rip started to his feet, but Koa's hand on his arm restrained him. With a violent kick, the big sergeant major shot through the air. His line of flight took him past the spaceman, and somehow their arms got linked.
He had a mathematically square jaw, a lopsided nose, green eyes, and sandy hair. He spoke with a pronounced Irish brogue. Rip started to announce his name, rank, and the fact that he was reporting as ordered. Commander O’Brine brushed his words aside and stated flatly, "You’re a Planeteer. I don’t like Planeteers." Rip didn’t know what to say, so he kept still.
The only trouble with that system, Rip thought, was that Bradshaw could stop, but the containers would have a tendency to keep going. Unless the English Planeteer were skillful, his burdens would drag him right off his feet. Dominico had a tube of rocket fuel under each arm. The Italian was small and the tubes were bulky. Each was about ten feet long and two feet in diameter.
And he knew that the major's specialty was the Planeteer science of exploration, a specialty which required him to be an expert in biology, zoology, anthropology, navigation and astrogation, and land fighting not to mention a half dozen lesser things. Only ten Planeteers rated expert in exploration, and all were captains or majors. "Where are you going?" Rip asked. "Off to explore something?"
Out of each fifteen who started training, an average of five fell by the wayside. For Planeteer officers, the requirements were even tougher. Only one out of each five hundred applicants finally received a commission. Six years of training made them proficient in the techniques of exploration, fighting, rocketeering, and both navigation and astrogation.
"If you need anything cooked, send it to us," Rip replied. "We have heat enough to cook anything, including tungsten alloy." He explained briefly what action they had taken. A new voice came on the communicator. "Foster, this is Colonel Stevens." Rip responded swiftly, "Yes, sir!" Stevens was the top Planeteer, commanding officer of all the Special Order Squadrons.
He had a mental image of the Terra base scientists feeding data into the electronic brain, taking the results, and writing fast orders for the men and supplies needed. If his estimate was correct, work at the Planeteer base had been finished within an hour of the time word was received.
Landing craft and snapper-boats swarmed to meet them, and within an hour after their arrival the Planeteers were surrounded by spacemen, cadets from the platform, and officers and men wearing Planeteer black. A cadet approached Rip and looked at him with awe. "Sir, I don't know how you ever did it!"
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