im up to the roof of the jail, where a rocket was
waiting. The landing space was too small for one of the station
shuttles, but a little Northport-Southport shuttle was parked there
after what must have been a difficult set-down. The guards tested Doc's
manacles and forced him into the shuttle.

Inside, Chris was waiting, carrying an official automatic. There was
also a young pilot, looking nervous and unhappy. He was muttering under
his breath as the guards locked Doc's legs to a seat and left.

"All right," Chris ordered. "Up ship!"

"I tell you we're overweight with you. I wasn't counting on three for
the trip," the pilot protested. "The only thing that will get this into
orbit with the station is faith. I'm loaded with every drop of fuel
she'll hold and it still isn't enough."

"That's your problem," Chris told him firmly. "You've got your orders,
and so have I. Up ship!"

If she had her own worries about the shuttle, she didn't show it. Chris
had never been afraid to do what she felt she should. The pilot stared
at her doubtfully and finally turned back to his controls, still
muttering.

The shuttle lifted sluggishly, but there was no great difficulty. Doc
could see that there was even some fuel remaining when they slipped into
the tube at the orbital station. Chris went out, and other guards came
in to free him.

"So long, Dr. Feldman," the pilot called softly as they led him out.
Then the guards shoved him through the airlock into the station. Fifteen
minutes later he was locked into one of the cabins of the _Iroquois_,
with all his possessions stacked beside him.

He grinned wryly. As an honest worker on the _Navaho_ he'd been treated
like an animal. Now, as a human fiend, he was installed in a luxury
cabin of the finest ship of the fleet, with constant spin to give a
feeling of weight and more room than the entire tube crew had known.

He roamed the cabin until he found a little collapsible table. He set
the electron microscope up on that and plugged it in. It seemed a shame
that good equipment should be wasted along with his life. He wondered
if they would really throw it out into space with him. Probably they
would.

He pushed a button on the call board over the table and asked for the
steward. There was a long wait, as if the procedure were being checked
with some authority, but finally he received a surly acknowledgement.
"Steward. Whatcha want?"

"How's the chance of getting some food?"

"Y