“You must’ve been quite a star yourself when you were in cadet school, lieutenant,” he said. “I mean, since you’ve been such a hero on different space expeditions.”

“As a matter of fact, I couldn’t seem to do anything extra well, Clay,” Rob admitted.

Rob thought Clay looked somewhat pleased to hear this. He wondered then if Clay had not set him up as his own personal rival who must be overcome as he had overcome all others he had vied with.

Rob noticed Mort Haines, the stocky mechanic, watching them both closely from the other side of the compartment. Was that an expression of contempt he was directing at the strapping young “sputter”? He had observed such an expression once before when Clay had spoken of his accomplishments.

Rob hoped desperately that there would be no personal conflicts. A clash of temperaments, even a trivial one, could endanger the operation. Rob resolved that if he did notice anyone getting out of line he would replace the offender on Titan with a new crew member. He could not afford to take any chances.

Rob was first aware of trouble when he heard a commotion down the corridor. He sprang from the electroscope, where he had been checking on the movement of the R-cloud, and clicked rapidly down the aisle. He caught the scene in a graphic instant. Harry Goode’s small form was wedged courageously between the scrambling figures of Clay and Mort Haines. There had obviously been some blows thrown, for there was a cut on Mort’s face.

“Let them go, Harry,” Rob said.

He stepped back and the combatants cooled down.

“What happened?” Rob asked.

Mort sponged his cut with a handkerchief. “The big guy was bragging about the records he had set, sir. I was busy checking a rocket chamber that was heating up, and I told him to lose himself. He said he had as much right in here as I did and that I’d have to throw him out. I was starting to oblige him, sir, when you came in.”

“Better get back to that rocket trouble, Mort,” Rob said.

“Yes, sir,” Mort said and went back into the cramped quarters of the engine compartment.

“Thanks, Harry,” Rob said to the medic, whose sparse fringe of hair had been disordered in the struggle.

Rob 

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