THEY SAT IN THE COMPARATIVELY large cabin of the expedition ship, cigarettes glowing, each trying to ease the tension that lay within them all. Val Kenton sat in the co-pilot’s seat, the lines of five years of dissipation clearly etched in his tired face, his clothes torn and stained. He talked jerkily, trying to avoid the bad points of the past few days, striving to make the situation appear more bearable.
“It will be a fairly simple job to fix my cruiser,” he said slowly. “Tony and I will use the catalyst feed from this ship to replace my fused one.”
Tony Andrews grinned, laughter wrinkles in the corners of his clear eyes. He was trim and fit in his uniform, and there was an air of competence and adventurousness in his compact body.
“We could use this entire ship for spare parts,” he
