d all be bought out or dead, and Earth would pay through
the nose for every ounce of metal that they got from the Asteroid Belt.
That company has been trying to drive the U.N. off Mars for thirty
years, and they've come so close to it that it scares me plenty." He
pushed his chair back sharply and rose to his feet. "And that is
exactly why I refuse to stir up a mess over this thing, unhappy as
it is, without something more than suspicions and rumors to back me
up ... because all Jupiter Equilateral needs is one big issue to make us
look like fools out here, and we're through."

He crossed the room to a wall cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a
scarred aluminum box. "We found this in the cabin of the _Scavenger_. I
thought you boys might want it."

They both recognized it instantly ... the battered old spacer's pack
that Roger Hunter had used for as long as they could remember. It seemed
to them, suddenly, as if a part of him had appeared here in the room
with them. Greg looked at the box and turned away. "You open it," he
said to Tom in a sick voice.

There was nothing much inside ... some clothing, a pipe and tobacco
pouch, a jack knife, half a dozen other items so familiar that Tom could
hardly bear to touch them. At the bottom of the pack was the heavy
leather gun case which had always held Roger Hunter's ancient .44
revolver. Tom dropped it back without even opening the flap. He closed
the box and took a deep breath. "Then you really believe that it was an
accident and nothing more?" he said to the major.

Major Briarton shook his head. "What I think or don't think doesn't make
any difference. It just doesn't matter. In order to do anything, I've
got to have evidence, and there just isn't any evidence. I can't even
take a ship out there for a second look, with the evidence I have, and
that's all there is to it."

"But you think that maybe it wasn't an accident, just the same," Tom
pursued.

The major hesitated. Then he shook his head again. "I'm sorry, but I've
got to stand on what I've said. And I think you'd better stand on it,
too. There's nothing else to be done."

* * * * *

It should have been enough, but it wasn't. As Tom Hunter walked with his
brother down the broad Upper Ramp to the business section of Sun Lake
City, he could not shake off the feeling of helpless anger, the growing
conviction that Roger Hunter's death involved something more than the
tragic accident