"Shut up, Peterson!" the Chief snapped. "We don't talk about his record around here, Miss Gray. It's not a pretty thing to tell."

"Stow it, Chief," said Peterson. "Miss Gray is no pantywaist." He turned to the nurse. "Ever hear of the Sansan massacre?"

Patti Gray paled. "Yes," she whispered. "Was Rat in that?"

Roberds shook his head. "He didn't take part in it. But Rat was attached to a very important office at the time, the outpost watch. And when Mad Barry Sansan and his gang of thugs swooped down on the Ganymedean colony, there was no warning. Our friend Rat was AWOL.

"As to who he is ... well, just one of those freaks from up around Centauria somewhere. He's been hanging around all the fields and dumps on Mars a long time, finally landed up here."

"But," protested Miss Gray, "I don't understand? I always thought that leaving one's post under such circumstances meant execution."

The Chief Consul nodded. "It does, usually. But this was a freak case. It would take hours to explain. However, I'll just sum it up in one word: politics. Politics, with which Rat had no connection saved him."

The girl shook her head, more in sympathy than condemnation.

"Are you expecting the others in soon?" she asked. "It wouldn't be right to leave Peterson."

"They will be in, in a day or two. Peterson will beat it over to Base station for repairs, and to notify Earth we're coming. He'll be all right."

Abruptly she stood up. "Goodnight gentlemen. Call me if I'm needed."

Roberds nodded acknowledgement. The door to the side room closed behind her. Peterson hauled his chair over to the desk. He sniffed the air.

"Damned rat!" he whispered harshly. "They ought to make a law forcing him to wear dark glasses!"

Roberds smiled wearily. "His eyes do get a man, don't they?"

"I'd like to burn 'em out!" Peterson snarled.

Rat helped Greaseball fill the water tanks to capacity with fuel, checked the concentrated rations and grunted.

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