tice it there, and it might be handy later. He had
strapped his father's gun case to his side, some comfort, but a small
one.

Now, crouching behind the yeast vat, he lifted out the gun, hefted it
idly in his hand. It was a weapon, at least. He was not well acquainted
with guns, and in the shadowy light it seemed to him that this one
looked odd for a revolver; it even felt wrong, out of balance in his
hand. He slipped it back in the case. After all, it had been fitted to
Dad's hand, not his. And Johnny or Greg would know how to use it better
than he would.

If he could find them. But to do that, he would have to search the ship.
He would have to move about, he couldn't just wait in a storage hold.
And with all the guards that were posted, he would certainly stumble
into one of them sooner or later if he tried leaving this spot....

He shook his head, and started for the hatch. He would have to chance
it. There was no way to tell how much time he had, but it was a sure bet
that he didn't have very long.

In the spur corridor again, he waited until the guard's footsteps were
muffled and distant. Then he darted out into the main corridor, moving
swiftly and silently away from the guard. At the first hatchway he
ducked inside, waited in the darkness, panting....

The guard had stopped walking. Then his footsteps resumed, but more
quickly, coming down the corridor. He stopped, almost outside the
hatchway door. "Funny," Tom heard him mutter. "I'd have sworn...."

Tom held his breath, waiting. This was a storage hold, but he didn't
dare to move, even to take cover. The guard stood motionless for a
moment, then grunted, and resumed his slow pacing.

When he had moved away Tom caught his breath in huge gasps, his heart
beating in his throat. It was no use, he thought in despair. Once or
twice he might get away with it, but sooner or later a guard would be
alert enough to investigate an obscure noise, a flicker of movement in
the corner of his eye....

There had to be another way. His eye probed the storage hold,
hopelessly, and then stopped on a metal grill in the wall.

For a moment, he didn't recognize what it was. Then there was a
_whoosh-whoosh-whoosh_ as a fan went on, and he felt cool air against
his cheek. He held out his hand to the grill, found the air coming from
there.

A ventilation shaft. Every space craft had to have reconditioning units
for the air inside the ship; the men inside needed a constant supp