"With those figures, I can't see how Marscorp expects to win this competition," said T'an. "We've got them, flat, on the basis of performance," agreed Jonner. "So we'll have to watch for tricks. I know Marscorp. That's why I arranged to take aboard that G-boat at the last minute. Marscorp controls all the G-boats at Marsport, and they're smart enough to keep us from using them, in spite of the Space Control Commission. As for refueling for the return trip, we can knock a chunk off of Phobos for reaction mass." The meteor alarm bells clanged suddenly, and the screen lit up once with a fast-moving red line that traced the path of the approaching object. "Miss us about half a mile," said Jonner after a glance at the screen. "Must be pretty big ... and it's coming up!" He and T'an floated to one of the ports, and in a few moments saw the object speed by. "That's no meteor!" exclaimed Jonner with a puzzled frown. "That's man-made. But it's too small for a G-boat." The radio blared: "All craft in orbit near Space Station 2! Warning! All craft near Space Station 2! Experimental missile misfired from White Sands! Repeat: experimental missile misfired from White Sands! Coordinates...." "Fine time to tell us," remarked T'an drily. "Experimental missile, hell!" snorted Jonner, comprehension dawning. "Qoqol, what would have happened if we hadn't shifted orbit to take aboard that G-boat?" Qoqol calculated a moment. "Hit our engines," he announced. "Dead center." Jonner's blue eyes clouded ominously. "Looks like they're playing for keeps this time, boys." The brotherhood of spacemen is an exclusive club. Any captain, astrogator or engineer is likely to be well known to his colleagues, either personally or by reputation. The ship's doctor-psychologist is in a different category. Most of them sign on for a few runs for the adventure of it, as a means of getting back and forth between planets without paying the high cost of passage or to pick up even more money than they can get from lucrative planetbound practice.