ravity is darned near foolproof.

It was ten years since I'd moved in free fall, but Space Tech had done
a good job of training good habits. I got out of my bunk, hit the
corridor with a hand out, bounced, kicked, and dove toward the mess
hall without a falter. The crewmen weren't doing so well--but they
were coming up the corridor fast enough.

I could have wrung Muller's neck. Normally, in case of trouble,
cutting gravity is smart. But not here, where the crew already wanted
a chance to commit mayhem, and had more experience than the
scientists.

Yet, surprisingly, when I hit the mess hall ten feet ahead of the
deckhands, most of the scientists were doing all right. Hell, I should
have known Pietro, Sanderson and a couple others would be used to
no-grav; in astronomical work, you cut your eye teeth on that. They
were braced around the cook, who huddled back in a corner, while our
purser-steward, Sam, was still singing for help.

The fat face of the cook was dead white. Bill Sanderson, looking like
a slim, blond ballet dancer and muscled like an apache expert, had him
in one hand and was stuffing the latest batch of whole wheat biscuits
down his throat. Bill's sister, Jenny, was giggling excitedly and
holding more biscuits.

The deckhands and Grundy, the mate, were almost at the door, and I had
just time enough to slam it shut and lock it in their faces. I meant
to enjoy seeing the cook taken down without any interruption.

Sam let out a final yell, and Bullard broke free, making a mess of it
without weight. He was sputtering out bits of the biscuit. Hal Lomax
reached out a big hand, stained with the chemicals that had been his
life's work, and pushed the cook back.

And suddenly fat little Bullard switched from quaking fear to a blind
rage. The last of the biscuit sailed from his mouth and he spat at
Hal. "You damned hi-faluting black devil. You--_you_ sneering at my
cooking. I'm a white man, I am--I don't have to work for no black
ni...."

* * * * *

I reached him first, though even Sam started for him then. You can
deliver a good blow in free-fall, if you know how. His teeth against
my knuckles stopped my leap, and the back of his head bounced off the
wall. He was unconscious as he drifted by us, moving upwards. My
knuckles stung, but it had been worth it. Anyhow, Jenny's look more
than paid for the trouble.

The door shattered then, and the big hulk of Mate Grundy tumbled