The Other Side of Nowhere

Chapter 1

He wasn't quite six feet tall, though he looked more than that. Perhaps it was because he was a merchant-space officer of some experience. Perhaps it was because he'd been born and raised on a planet where the gravity was 1.7 normal and he felt light and springy where other people drooped. Or it may have been because he'd been on many ships and many worlds and knew his way about. In any case, he was eating a steak in a warehouse-district restaurant when he heard about the Rim Star. It sounded good, but he made sure it was straight before he acted on it.

It checked, so he headed for the spaceport, though it was well after midnight at the time. His name was Braden and his papers certified that he should be of great value to any ship which secured his services. He didn't put much faith in documents, himself, and maybe this skipper wouldn't, either. But papers were necessary.

He ignored other theoretical matters. The best thought on getting a berth, for example. It was said that approaching a skipper at an inconvenient time was unwise. The very best thought held that no skipper would take on a new mate if approached when he was busy loading ship, or asleep, or otherwise fully occupied. But there were angles. For example, unless a ship is going to be aground for a long time its officers and crew will keep to ship-time regardless of local customs. They may sleep while the world around them bustles in bright sunshine. They may breakfast at sundown, or have supper at what the spaceport clocks say is noon. It saves trouble. So the fact that the spaceport was dark and desolate at this hour needn't mean that it was a bad time to hit the skipper for the vacant mate's berth.

Braden showed his papers at the spaceport gate and went in. He didn't have to ask directions. The Rim Star was the biggest ship in several star-clusters, and he could spot her enormous, clumsy bulk by the starlight, half a mile away across the tarmac. In between there were a medium-sized freighter and a toy-sized yacht, and a pile of stacked crates and boxes that had been unloaded, but not yet warehoused, from a ship now gone away. There was a huddle of loading-cranes, their long booms seeming to droop mournfully in the darkness. There was the general atmosphere of gloom that a spaceport has on a slow night when nothing is happening.

Braden went briskly toward the ship. Behind him there was a faint, low, rumbling sound. That was the spaceport city. Even in the small hours a city rumbles to itself. Its inhabitants don't notice, but it is startling to a spaceman to hear murmurings and rumbles and noises which have no meaning. In space, every sound inside a ship has its significance, and there are no outside sounds at all.

The piled-up cargo cases loomed high. They mounted to a peak in one place, and in others they were heaped on each other in what seemed pure confusion. There were boxes with starlight on them bright enough for their markings to be read, but also there were caverns and places of daunting darkness around the base of the shipload of freight.

As Braden drew near it, two men came out from among the cases. They stood in front of him, waiting. Simultaneously, three other men came out from other hiding places and moved to positions behind him. They didn't speak. They simply quietly encircled him; those ahead waited for him and those behind him moved to overtake him. This was not an action of the spaceport police. It looked like a holdup, but not entirely, at that. Five men are too many for a holdup. One with a blaster is enough. This looked like something else - a cold-blooded intention to do harm, a purpose which was implacable and had been settled in advance.

Braden took note of the facts. He didn't look for an explanation now. That could come later. But he estimated the situation. On his home planet the acceleration of gravity was 54 feet the first second, instead of 32. Anybody who grew up there had reflexes keyed to a high-speed environment. Thus Braden had an advantage in both mental and physical reaction time. Also, he knew that if trouble is bound to come, the advantage lies with the man who starts it.

So he went on, his footsteps audible and confident. He moved briskly toward the distant Rim Star. The two men ahead of him closed in. Those behind him moved up. Their actions should have been frightening, but Braden's footsteps did not change tempo. He went onward as if not noticing. Then, just before the two men in front of him crouched to rush him, he rushed first. Not at both of them, of course. He leaped at the man on his left with a ruthless and calculated ferocity. His full weight knocked the man off balance and he brought his fist up with the strength of all his shoulder muscles behind it. Those muscles had been developed on a heavy planet. The blow landed accurately on the point of the man's jaw. Braden didn't wait for him to fall. Keyed to fast action, he seemed to himself to float almost in slow motion as he leaped again, on the man at his right this time, and before any of the three others could realize what was happening. This was no time for sportsmanship. Braden grabbed the second man, kneed him ferociously, and then swung and slung him - part missile and part shield - against the other three. The gasping man took the blow one of his companions aimed at Braden. He blocked for an instant the attack of a second. And Braden, coming around from the side in a specific flank attack, used his peculiar gifts in selfdefense as such gifts have to be used - offensively.

No word was spoken. The whole thing happened too fast. The five men had intended to do their work with blackjacks or something similar. They'd assumed the initiative would be theirs. The three in back were ready to attack from the rear someone already attacked from the front. But they were attacked, instead. Braden took them from the side, one after another, with only fractions of a second in between. He was not gentle. His tactics were murderous.

The last man went down and starlight glinted on a knife. Braden kicked, twice. The knife went clanging away after the first kick. The man wailed after the second.

Then it was all over. Braden's attackers were victims of the technical device known as surprise, and he surveyed them in the starlight. He was breathing hard, but he'd worked scientifically on men who were shocked and surprised by being attacked instead of attacking.

"Now what the hell," demanded Braden savagely, "what the hell is this all about?"

A voice mumbled, feebly and despairingly:

"It ain't him! Oh, migawd! It ain't even him!"

There was a pause. Then Braden said, annoyedly,

"Oh. It was a mistake. I suppose that makes it all right."

He turned and went on toward the Rim Star. What he had done was not exactly the behavior the authorities would have advised, perhaps. Maybe he should have called the spaceport police and turned the five men over to them, making the distinctly improbable statement that they'd seemed about to attack him so he'd subdued them. The police would be dubious and he, Braden, would waste time arguing with them. Ultimately the five would be dismissed for lack of evidence.

So he went on his way. He passed the toy-sized yacht where a light burned outside the air lock to guide a skimmer-driver bringing the yacht's owner back to his ship. Braden went on past the freighter, resting quietly on the tarmac with a pool of deep black shadow underneath it. The truly enormous bulk of the Rim Star loomed ahead.

A light showed briefly. It was an exit port on the huge vessel. The light was partly obscured; then it brightened, and then went out again as the exit port closed. A man had come out. Presently Braden heard footsteps. They were heading for the spaceport gate from which Braden had just come. The other man would pass close by. Braden called:

"You from the Rim Star!"

The other man hesitated, and then slowed and stopped. He was a dim figure in the starlight. His voice sounded suspicious.

"What do you want?"

"I had some trouble," said Braden, "with some characters hiding in that pile of freight. They're still there. If you want to avoid trouble. I suggest that you steer wide of it. That's all."

A pause. The other man said, "Thanks." Another pause. "You're heading for the Rim Star?"

"Yes," Braden answered. "There's talk she's shorthanded. I just heard it."

"She is," said the dim figure. "I just left her."

"Sign on?" Braden asked.

"No," said the figure. He sounded amused. "I'm her owner. I was talking to the skipper."'

"How about the stuff that's going around?" asked Braden. "The story is that she's going to Handel's Planet with the girders for a grid among other cargo, and she'll have to land on rockets. No grid there to let her down. Right?"

"That's right," said the dim figure in the darkness. "And they say it can't be done." Then his tone went ironic. "The story also says that she'll crash and I'll collect insurance on her. Did you hear that?"

"Sure!" said Braden. "I hear she's shy a mate, too. The last one's in hospital. Somebody beat him up... I've papers for a mate's berth."

"She's waiting for a mate to get clearance," said the other figure. "Satisfy the skipper and you're set."

"Thanks," said Braden. "I'll try to satisfy him."

He started on toward the huge mass of the Rim Star when the other man said curtly:

"Tell me something... About the story that the Rim Star will crash for the insurance. Do people believe it?"

"Some," said Braden. "I mean, parts of it. You believe stuff about people being crooks when you're down on your luck. You say you're honest and they aren't and that's why you're broke. It's your alibi."

"True enough," said the figure in the starlight. He paused again. "The skipper's my father- in-law. I wouldn't be likely to send him off to be killed just to collect insurance. He says the ship can land. On rockets. He should be right.... If you satisfy him, you've got the mate's job. But that's his business, not mine."

"Naturally," agreed Braden. "Remember those characters by the pile of freight. They could be nasty. They were waiting for somebody special. I wasn't him. You might be."

The man in the starlight said drily:

"I've got a blaster in my pocket." He moved on toward the spaceport gate.

Braden went on toward the big ship. As he drew nearer, her huge size became evident. She was 1500 feet long from her blunt bow to her rounded stern. She was 200-odd feet in diameter - as thick as a twenty-story building is tall. Beneath her there was utter and absolute darkness. No glimmer of light came from anywhere on her hull. She was wholly without grace of line or structure. There is nothing in the galaxy that looks more improbable than a spaceship, either aground or in space. The Rim Star was preposterous. She looked clumsy. There was no beauty in her anywhere.

Braden found the exit port - not a cargo door, but a small opening. He signaled his presence. Half a minute later there was a click, and a voice came out of a speaker over his head.

"Well?" the voice asked.

"My name's Braden. I was mate on the Cerberus and others. Paid off a month ago. My certificate's in order. I hear you're shy a mate. If that's right, I'm available."

The voice from the speaker rumbled inarticulately for a moment. Then it said:

"Wait. I'll have the steward let you in."

There was a click, and silence. Braden waited in the total darkness beneath the Rim Star's monstrous shape. He looked out at the stars. They were unfamiliar, but unfamiliar constellations are matters of course to a space officer. Forty light-years of distance changes any pattern of nearby stars to the point where no pattern any longer exists. But there is the Milky Way, and certain bright clusters, and more notably those dark nebulae which blot out the star- systems behind them. Braden could have used such skymarkers and by eye located this world of Nelm within, a reasonable number of light-centuries. It occurred to him that somebody scanning a sky of strange and unnamed stars might very well come to believe in the fabled Other Side of Nowhere, because anything seemed possible when the sky was new. But it was, of course, pure superstition. It attempted to explain the occasional inexplicable disappearance of ships in emptiness. But Braden didn't believe in it. It was a tall tale - absurd.

The port door opened and a man with straw-colored hair peered out. His skin seemed normal enough. He might have tried a rejuv job and it hadn't worked. He looked at Braden.

"Braden?"

"That's right," said Braden.

"I'll take you to the skipper."

Braden stepped inside. The door closed behind him. He saw that the man with the straw- colored hair was the ship's steward. The steward led the way up a short flight of stairs and through an opening into a corridor that led both ways. He went on. The floor of the corridor became a ramp. Presently there were steps, then more ramp, then more steps. There was no sign of life anywhere. The two men went through a long, curving, rising tunnel which went round and round without any apparent doors or other openings. There were, of course, hinged plates here and there in the corridor wall. Naturally! There were monitor-boxes, too. But the corridor obviously circled the huge emptiness which was the cargo space of the ship. This was normal for the Rim Star was a bulk-cargo carrier and her cavernous holds occupied almost all the interior of her structure.

The men climbed and climbed. Once they passed the marked doorway to a lifeboat blister, and once they passed a double door on the corridor's inboard side. This would allow the removal and replacement of the units that combined to form the ship's Lawlor drive, if inspection aground called for substitution. Otherwise there were no openings. The hinged plates, of course, gave access to catwalks among the ship's framing-members. There were no portholes, obviously. And there was no life.

The Rim Star consisted of a group of enormous cargo spaces enclosed in a double skin, with all controls in the bow. The parts of the ship to be used by human beings were minute compared to the volume available for freight. She'd been built to carry grain in bulk to the twin worlds Themis and Thetis when it was impossible to grow grain there for the human population. But some years back a mutant wheat had been developed which throve on the previously inhospitable planets. It had actually pushed back the native vegetation. Wheat was now sown on both planets to crowd out the useless native plants and thus clear ground for human-use crops. In consequence there was no longer any need for the big ship and she couldn't pay her way. In fact, the Rim Star appeared no longer to have any reason for being.

All this was no secret. But the ship did exist. She was designed to be handled by no more than six crewmen, plus steward and skipper and mate. There had seemed no possible use for her, until her skipper invented one. It looked promising to some people, and dubious to others. But Braden hadn't yet reached the point at which he considered disasters as rather more likely to happen than not. The Rim Star needed a mate. She would be heading toward a part of space where he'd never been. He didn't think about abstract probabilities or the dangers of trying new things. He'd come to try to get a berth.

Finally the steward opened a door and said: "The captain's in there."

He closed the door behind Braden, who found himself in a room empty of everything but ordinary furniture. There was another door ahead. Braden went through it. Still another door.

"This way," a voice rumbled.

Braden went through the third door. An enormously fat man sat in a huge upholstered chair. There was a glass on the table beside him. He put down a book - by its title and cover a historical novel about cowboys, centuries ago on Earth. He looked at Braden through fat- puffed eyes.

"Certificate," he rumbled. He held out a hand.

Braden handed over his papers. The skipper looked at them.

"The Cerberus, from Canberra to Nelm," he rumbled. "Skipper, Holden. How does he swear?"

Rather surprisedly, Braden mentioned the Cerberus' skipper's most adhesive profane expression. The Rim Star's skipper grunted. He looked at another discharge.

"The Ganymede, Honda to Canberra," he rumbled again. "I know her skipper. What's he like?"

Braden grew interested.

"Scar under his chin, sandy hair," he said. "About six feet tall."

The Rim Star's skipper grunted again.

"One more. The Hansford. In the control-room there's a pin-up. Remember it?"

Braden considered. These were not usual questions for a skipper to ask an applicant for a mate's job on his ship.

"It's a vision-screen girl," he said after a moment. "The name is..." he hesitated, and then said, "Derr Carmody." The skipper handed back the papers.

"You'll do," he rumbled. "Pay is scale. Report on board tomorrow morning. Ten, local time. Fetch the crew with you."

He pushed a button. Then he said almost genially:

"Are you ducking something? Your coat's slit. Looks like a knife did it. Sharp edges. Happened lately."

Braden looked down. There was a fresh knife-slash in his coat. Obviously, it had happened over by the pile of freight in his encounter with the five men.

"I didn't notice it," he said, annoyed. "Just now, on my way here, some characters tried to jump me. It must have happened then."

The skipper blinked at him.

"Well?"

"I jumped first," said Braden. "They weren't very good. One of them said afterward that I was the wrong man. I don't know of anybody who'd want to jump me, so I suppose it was true."

The skipper blinked again, and then he chuckled. He shook when he chuckled.

A door opened and the steward appeared. The skipper said genially, "This is the steward." He waved a fat hand. To the steward he said, "Let him out. He's the new mate."

He chuckled again and looked approvingly at Braden. "'You may meet those characters again before you think. I don't like popular officers. A popular officer is a poor one. You'll do!"

He waved his hand in dismissal. He hadn't stirred from the huge upholstered chair. But he was still chuckling as Braden followed the steward from the room.

They went down the slanting corridor with the alternating sloping floor and the flights of stairs. Halfway down, the steward said:

"Beg pardon, sir, but... what made the skipper choose you? I'm curious."

"I'm trying to figure it out myself," said Braden. "But I got the job."

"Yes, sir," said the steward. It was not customary for the steward on a cargo ship to practise such extreme deference. "I was wondering, sir, because he's interviewed a good many others and only chose one who's since - been taken ill, sir. But he turned down a great many. Some of them were very steady men, married, sir, and with excellent reputations. And some of the younger ones he didn't even consider. He turned them down after one glance at them. But he chose you at once. It's strange, sir."

Braden said nothing.

"Very strange," repeated the steward. "Even the crew were chosen on a system I don't understand. I consider the men he chose very dubious characters, sir. In fact..."

"What?"

"It's quite possible, sir, that the men who tried to jump you were the men the skipper has signed on for his crew. I said the last mate chosen was taken ill. He was beaten up, sir. He's in hospital now."

Braden was silent for a moment. Then he said detachedly:

"I told the skipper, not you, that the men had tried to work me over. Does he know that you eavesdrop on him?"

"In case of trouble, sir," said the steward earnestly. "Only in case of trouble! A precaution, sir. I wouldn't presume..."

"Don't," said Braden. "If I'm the mate, don't eavesdrop on me. I don't like it. I won't like it."

"Yes, sir," said the steward.

"And when you tell the skipper about this conversation," added Braden, frowning, "don't forget to add that I also don't like tricks to find out if I'm loose-tongued and ready to discuss my private business or his. I don't like such things!"

"Oh, yes, sir!" said the steward. "I'm sure the skipper will be pleased, sir," he added. "Very pleased!" He paused a moment. "Considering a certain part of the cargo, sir, in particular."

They reached the bottom of the circular ramp-and-stair combination. Braden asked no questions about the certain part of the ship's cargo. It was not his affair. Especially, he would not ask questions of a steward who would probably repeat every question to the skipper.

Here was the exit port at the bottom of the short flight of steps. Braden opened it for himself.

"Ten o'clock, sir, local time," said the steward. "The skipper will be expecting to lift off by noon, sir. The passengers will be notified."

"Passengers?" demanded Braden. He stopped short.

"Yes, sir. Quite unexpected, sir. The shipping agent only notified the skipper this afternoon that there would be passengers. We've accommodations for a few, sir. Very few. Six cabins and a saloon, sir. Often there are people bound for a planet that has infrequent ship service and they make the trip by freighter. It's often a quicker way to travel."

Braden shrugged. It was not surprising that even a bulkcargo carrier like the Rim Star should have accommodations for passengers. The big fast liners that went singing through the void did not like to make small way-stops. They were moving hotels, with decks upon decks of passenger cabins and amusement areas. It was costly for crack liners to break their runs to put off a very few passengers. Many worlds could be reached most practically by finding a freighter bound for them.

"Very well," said Braden curtly. "I'll be back at ten."

"Yes, sir," said the steward respectfully.

He closed the exit port behind Braden, and Braden was in the abysmally black shadow of the Rim Star.

He frowned as he headed back toward the spaceport gate. It is not the business of a ship's officer to investigate everything out of the ordinary on a ship he's just joining. His obligation is to do his ship-duty well and honorably, and nothing more. If this skipper chose a mate because he could answer questions about other skippers and their ships, it was his business only. If he preferred unpopular officers to amiable ones, again it was only his affair. But if he chose and knowingly kept on crewmen who lay in wait for other prospective crewmembers heading for the Rim Star...

Braden's frown became a scowl. He moved out from the Rim Star's shadow and headed for the spaceport gate. There were a number of unorthodox things about the Rim Star besides her purpose and destination. But he'd learned that a man can go unscathed through undesirable and annoying and even unjust experiences if he keeps his self-respect. And a man keeps his self- respect largely by being competent in his work.

So it did not occur to him to back out because the coming journey would probably have some unusual features. He'd asked for the job, he'd gotten it. Now he would do his work. That was his entire obligation. If the Rim Star's skipper chose his crew from among probable criminals and selected a mate for his knowledge of pin-ups and his probable unpopularity... Braden considered, from a professional viewpoint, that if he did his work competently such things wouldn't matter.

In most cases he would have been right.

He passed the pile of freight, keeping eyes and ears open as he went by. It was this extra alertness that enabled him to hear a very faint, arresting noise. It was a bubbling sound that should not come from a human throat, but couldn't come from anywhere else.

Braden hesitated for a long moment, and then went to investigate. Thirty yards from the pile of freight, he found a figure moving feebly on the ground. It had been jumped and beaten, horribly and brutally pounded. It twitched and writhed, and made suffering, meaningless sounds.

Coldly, Braden made sure that movement wouldn't add to the man's injuries. Then he picked him up and carried him to the spaceport gate. He laid him on a bench the gate guards used for lounging.

"Get an ambulance," he commanded. "This man's been worked over. I found him on the ground back there."

The guards looked, and moved fast. One called for an ambulance while another gave what first aid he could. A third guard said, his voice hushed:

"He came through the gate less than half an hour ago. He was signed on the Rim Star. Space crewman first class. Had his papers, too."

Braden's nostrils widened a little. Five men had tried to jump him, maybe an hour ago. That had been a mistake. He wasn't the man they were after. This man probably was - at least he belonged on the Rim Star and was headed back to the ship when all this happened to him.

"He'll probably tell you that he was jumped by five men," said Braden. "That many came after me earlier, out there, but I wasn't the man they wanted. He must have been."

He turned and went away. He was still within earshot when the ambulance arrived at the gate, but he went on about his business. It was common sense to do so. He was mate of a ship; his first duty was due her. He couldn't describe the five men who'd tried to manhandle him, or prove that they'd worked this man over. And it was at least half-past three in the morning. He had to get ready for duty on the Rim Star. When he'd left his room earlier, he'd had no departure in mind. He'd have to register at the Space Shipping Office as mate of the big ship. He'd have to round up the crewmen who were still ashore. Obviously, all this ought to be simple if he started early enough.

He went to his room and packed, including the pocket blaster which nobody was supposed to take into space on a merchant ship, but which no prudent officer would fail to be without. When he finished packing, there were no more than five hours before he was due to go on duty. He slept two hours, for he had the ability to wake up whenever he chose.

After he got up, he went to the Space Shipping Office. Because the Rim Star's skipper hadn't reported his being hired as mate, he had to be raised by communicator to verify the appointment. He did. But another man was also listed as mate.

"He's in hospital somewhere," said Braden. "I'd guess he was jumped and beaten up."

The Shipping Officer used the communicator again and found the man who had first been accepted as mate on the Rim Star. He admitted with profanity that he would not sail on the Rim Star.

"And any man is a fool who does!" he rasped.

Braden's name was substituted for his on the official records. The Shipping Office was meticulous about such matters. Space traffic had to be watched closely. History told about piracies and worse before the modern strict regulations went into effect. Braden got the list of the Rim Star's signed-on crew. There were six names listed. Five of the men gave the same spaceport boardinghouse as the place where they could be reached when wanted. Braden put his finger on the sixth name.

"I think this man is in the hospital," he said. "It happened last night or early this morning. Which will mean overtime pay for the men who have to do his work."

Again the Shipping Office checked. Again it took time. Yes, the sixth man had been brought to a public hospital from the spaceport gate about 4 A.M. He'd been badly beaten. There were two fractures. So the Shipping Office noted that the Rim Star would take off with one crewmember short, and therefore the pay of the rest of the crew would be raised accordingly. This was all recorded, and any discrepancy would eventually come to light and would follow the Rim Star implacably wherever she went.

Braden went to pick up his crew. They were gone. The boardinghouse keeper stolidly insisted he knew nothing. Braden began to search spaceport restaurants and dives of various kinds. Two and a half hours to duty-time. He drew blanks and more blanks. Two hours left. He went down the long line of joints toward the spaceport gate. When only one hour was left, he found a message waiting for him in a particularly greasy eating-place. If the Rim Star's mate came in looking for his crew, he should call the ship.

Braden called, and the steward answered.

"About the crew, sir," he said respectfully, when Braden asked curtly what the call was about. "It occurred to me, sir, that you might have trouble finding them, so I took the liberty of hunting them up. They're waiting for you at the spaceport gate, sir."

"Very well," said Braden. "Hereafter, though, I'll do my own work, if you please!"

He hung up, fuming. There are many ways to undermine an officer's position on board ship. One is to do his work for him. It seemed to Braden that there would be much more than the usual amount of friction before things settled down on the Rim Star. For valid psychological reasons it is wisest to sign on a crew for one voyage only, and get a fresh crew for the next. Long, tedious weeks and months in space have the same effect as the same time spent in close confinement in a jail. With nothing to see and only routine duties to do in space flights, when most men go aground they only want never to see their shipmates again. When they start on another voyage, they bristle in anticipation of forming similar new hatreds. So an officer has to establish his authority at the beginning and guard against anything that could be taken as weakness. Men on the verge of going ship-happy from confinement can be unbelievably petty and have to be ridden hard. It isn't wise to let anybody take over any part of an officer's duties.

Braden took a skimmer to the spaceport. There were five men waiting for him at the gate. They looked very much like other space crewmen. They eyed him with the painstakingly blank expression of men being sized up. It was a familiar experience to Braden. There was a man with scarred and battered features, but no new signs of conflict. A hard-faced man with a small new cut on his chin. A man with a purple bruise on his cheekbone. A lean man with sharp eyes. A chubby man with an expression of insistent innocence. Braden decided that he'd met them by the pile of freight the previous night. He suspected that the sixth crew-member had proved himself uncongenial to the other five and was in hospital as a result. They looked like that kind of crew.

"I think," said Braden deliberately, "that there's no use in speeches. You'll find out about me aboard ship, and what I don't know about you I'll find out after we lift off. You've got your ship-bags. Come along!"

He led the way. The loading-cranes had moved now, and the very tallest of them seemed to be topping off the Rim Star's cargo with the largest single piece of fabricated steel that Braden had ever seen. At a guess, it would be the bottom-tier girder for a landing-grid. It would form part of a gigantic steel framework, no less than half a mile in diameter and nearly as high - one of those structures that made space commerce possible. One such structure rimmed the spaceport here, and ships came sedately down from the sky, cradled in the force-fields it generated. Later they would rise skyward again, thrust out into emptiness by the same powerful force-fields.

Before landing-grids were invented, ships could lift off only on rockets or on the Lawlor space-drive. But rockets required enormous amounts of fuel to get them out into space, more fuel to carry that fuel, and still more to carry that. Lift-offs and landings on space-drive created such ferocious turbulence in the atmosphere - such fierce local hurricanes - that no structure could remain standing within miles of a heavy ship's lift-off point, and clouds of dust blanketed all growing things for a distance of over fifty square leagues. Single exploration voyages could be lifted off in this way, but real space commerce would have been impossible without landing- grids.

Obviously, no newly colonized planet could be considered complete without a grid. Supplies and materials for the first new colony had to be hauled by drone ships which were towed to position and then landed on rockets. All this was inordinately costly, and there were accidents. But if the Rim Star could land under control, she could carry in one trip nearly everything needed for a new colony, including the grid. If she could do that, the huge ship would cease to be a white elephant and would once more be profitable to own and operate. But the landing had to be tried before it could be counted on.

The small group of crewmen followed Braden toward the ship. The toy-sized yacht had gone away, and the medium-sized freighter was discharging cargo. A meatship from the llano planet Chagan seemed to smoke faintly, with hoarfrost on its plating and icicles forming on its lower parts. It had made a very good breakout from overdrive and had come to ground before even the unshielded sunshine could warm it above the freezing point of water.

Two skimmers came in the gate and floated swiftly across the tarmac. Four inches of clear space showed between their bottom ducts and the floor of the spaceport. They sped past Braden and the crew with the smooth celerity of frictionless things. They reached the Rim Star and settled to the ground.

Figures got out of the skimmers. They watched as baggage was put aboard the ship. Then they went aboard her and inside, and the port was closed. The skimmers left. Nothing of any marked importance seemed to have happened. But two of the distant figures were women. Their faces could not be seen, but their figures were lithe and young.

Braden muttered under his breath. Then he heard a strange sound. The five members of the Rim Star's crew were laughing. There was nothing to laugh at, but still they laughed. They looked at the now-closed port, and at each other, and they laughed uproariously at something exquisitely humorous that only they knew about. If they were laughing because there were women among the Rim Star's passengers, it did not promise an orderly and peaceful voyage. But there was little that Braden could do about it. He could change his mind and stay behind, instead of going on the voyage. But somebody else would serve as mate - perhaps someone the crew would approve, as they hadn't the skipper's first choice. For him to back out would do no good. The five crewmen, still laughing unpleasantly, would go. And the passengers.

He ground his teeth. There was a lot out of the ordinary in this voyage. He began to suspect a number of things. But the Rim Star was his ship now, since he'd taken the berth as mate. And the first and fundamental duty of a merchant-space officer is to his ship.