number of nylon-webbed foam rubber bunks. The bunks were empty, but I
looked them over anyhow. I carefully tugged back the canvas covering
that fitted envelope-fashion over a foam rubber pad, and ran my finger
over the surface of the pad. It came away just slightly gritty.

"Uh-huh!" I said, smiling. Anders just stared at me.

I turned to the storage lockers. "Let's see this junk they were
suddenly deprived of."

Anders, after a puzzled frown, obediently threw open the doors of
the riveted tiers of metal boxes along the rear wall; the wall next
to the firing chambers, which I had no particular desire to visit. I
glanced inside at the articles therein, and noted with interest their
similarity.

"Now, then," I resumed, "the thrust of this rocket to get from Mars to
Earth is calculated with regard to the mass on board, is that correct?"
He nodded. "Good, that clears up an important point. I'd also like to
know if this rocket has a dehumidifying system to keep the cast-off
moisture from the passengers out of the air?"

"Well, sure, sir!" said Anders. "Otherwise, we'd all be swimming in our
own sweat after a ten-hour trip across space!"

"Have you checked the storage tanks?" I asked. "Or is the cast-off
perspiration simply jetted into space?"

"No. It's saved, sir. It gets distilled and stored for washing and
drinking. Otherwise, we'd all dehydrate, with no water to replace the
water we lost.""Check the tanks," I said. Anders, shaking his head, moved into the pilot's section and looked at a dial there. "Full, sir. But that's because I didn't drink very much, and any sweating I did--which was a hell of a lot, in this case--was a source of new water for the tanks."

"Uh-huh." I paused and considered. "I suppose the tubing for these tanks is all over the ship? In all the hollow bulkhead space, to take up the moisture fast?"

Anders, hopelessly lost, could only nod wearily.

"Would it hold--" I did some quick mental 

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