But, of course, that little outburst of camaraderie had to stop short as soon as they debarked inside the mother ship. The Solar Pioneer was strictly spit-and-polish, all twelve hundred feet of it, and as they came out of the scout craft hangar, there were brisk salutes to be exchanged and data registration books to countersign. General Chisholm, a natty man with brightly burnished swagger stick to match, was personally on hand to greet them.
"Anything of interest to report, Captain?" he snapped.
"Fairly routine, sir." He gave Cramer a silencing glance.
"That's the trouble, Captain, the whole voyage has been. You're the last craft in so we're heading back to Earth now."
Hartley held out the specimen box. "We spotted a good landing asteroid—one side flat as a mesa. Composition fairly similar to granite and mica."
"Nothing else?"
Cramer started to open his mouth but Hartley broke in; "Nothing, sir," he answered.
"The white stuff, sir," said Cramer, holding chin and stomach in.
The General glared directly at him. "You're out of order, Mister."