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Updated: May 5, 2025
The three men left the dingy hotel and walked out into the main street of Spaceman's Row. In a few moments they arrived at the Café Cosmos. Roger was already there, seated at the same table and watching the door. When he saw Loring and Mason with Shinny, he eyed them warily. "Hiya, kid!" greeted Loring. "Glad to see you took my advice and got away from 'Blast-off' Connel."
There was a moment of silence as the Chief Ranger evaluated that. Then he added a few comments of his own. "That off-worlder who wears spaceman's clothing, his weapon is not drawn, though the others are ready. But I believe that you are right in thinking they expect to be warned by sentries. Those we can see to. Suppose then, Captain, you and I play the fear-crazed men running from demons.
"Seven thousand feet," reported Roger. Vidac remained cool, staring at the control board. Tom wondered what it was he was watching, since there wasn't one instrument that registered properly. "Five thousand feet!" screamed Roger. "Spaceman's luck!" Immediately Vidac ordered Astro to apply full thrust to the main rockets.
But when you come back in four weeks, you'll think this past term has been a picnic. And remember, wherever you go, whatever you do, you're Space Cadets! Act like one! But above all, have a good time! Spaceman's luck!" A cadet stepped forward quickly, turned to face the line of cadets, and held up his hands.
Tom brought his fist up, with the thumb extended and wiped it across his chest in the traditional spaceman's signal that all was clear. "I didn't scratch one of 'em, sir," he said, smiling. "Good enough," said Connel. "Keep it that way." He watched the monitor screen as the liner San Francisco settled into landing-port eleven.
"I've got to find nine Planeteers and get them on the Scorpius before it flames off." The spaceman's face cleared. "Oh. You mean Koa's detachment. They left a few minutes ago." "Where. Where did they go?" The spaceman shrugged. The doings of Planeteers were no concern of his. His shrug said so. Rip realized there was no use talking further.
The Khatkan did not have time to rise from his knees as the barrel of the fire rod struck his head, sending him spinning. Then the drum was cradled in the spaceman's arm, close to his chest, his weapon aimed across it at the startled natives. The crackle of blaster fire, the shrill whine of needlers in action, raised a bedlam from the other end of the camp.
He turned and saw one of the colonists scrambling down the side of the hill, heading for him. "Here they come," Astro whispered hoarsely. "Spaceman's luck!" He dropped the last stone in place and turned to face the man who was now almost upon him. Tom and Roger crouched in the darkness and listened intently. "You there!" they heard the colonist cry. "Halt! Don't move or I'll freeze you!"
Sleep was a fitful, dream-haunted thing. Food was now mostly a kind of gruel, rich in starches, proteins, fats and vitamins each meal differently flavored, up to the number of ten flavors, in a manufacturer's attempt to mask the sameness. Add water to a powder heat and eat. The spaceman's usual diet, while afield...
Ensign Vaneski colored, and his youthful face became masklike. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Quill didn't even bother to answer; he looked back at Mike the Angel, who was still standing at attention. Quill's voice resumed its caustic saccharinity. "But don't let that go to your head, Mister Gabriel. I repeat: Where is your pretty red spaceman's suit?"
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