ab on the way to the Atom City spaceport.

"What's this all about?" demanded Quent, settling back in his seat. "Why
the rush call?"

"I didn't get the contract to haul the crystal," replied Brett grimly.
"All the bids were so close the Solar Council decided to have a space
race out to Titan to pick the outfit that would get the job."

Quent turned toward him, surprised. "But I thought you had all that
sewed up tight!" he exclaimed. "I thought after you got your hands on
the--"

"Shut up!" interrupted Brett. "The details on the specifications leaked
out. Now the only way I can get the contract is to win the race."

"And I'm the guy to do it?" asked Quent with a smile.

"That's what you're here for. If we don't win this race, we're finished.
Washed up!"

"Who else is in the race?"

"Every other major space-freight outfit in the system," replied Brett
grimly. "And Kit Barnard."

"Has Barnard got that new reactor of his working yet?"

"I don't think so. But I have no way of telling."

"If he has, you're not going to win this race," said Quent, shaking his
head. "Nor is anyone else."

"You are here for one reason," said Brett pointedly.

"I know." Quent grinned. "To win a race."

"Right."

Quent laughed. "With those heaps you've fooled people into thinking are
spaceships? Don't make me laugh."

"There are going to be time trials before the race," said Brett. "The
three fastest ships are going to make the final run. I'm not worried
about the race itself. I've got a plan that will assure us of winning.
It's the time trials that's got me bothered."

"Leave that to me," said Quent.

The jet cab pulled up to the main gate of the spaceport and the two men
got out. Far across the field, a slender, needle-nosed ship stood poised
on her stabilizer fins ready for flight. She was black except for a red
band painted on the hull across the forward section and around the few
viewports. It gave her the appearance of a huge laughing insect. Quent
eyed the vessel with a practiced eye.

"I'll have to soup her up," he commented. "She wouldn't win a foot race
now."

"Don't depend too heavily on your speed," said Brett. "I would just as
soon win by default. After all," he continued, looking at Miles with
calculating eyes, "serious accidents could delay the other ships."

"Sure. I know what you mean," replied the spaceman.

"Good!" Brett turned away abruptly and headed for the ship. Quent
following him. In a little wh