"Born in space," cackled Shinny, "on a passenger freighter carrying colonists out to Titan. Never had a breath of natural fresh air until I was almost a grown man. Nothing but synthetic stuff under the atmosphere screens. My father was a mining engineer. I was the only kid. One night a screen busted and nearly everybody suffocated or froze to death. My pa and ma was among 'em. I blasted off after that. Been in the deep ever since. And you know, by the blessed rings of Saturn, I'd be on a nice farm near Venusport, living on a pension, if you hadn't kicked me out of the Solar Guard!"
"Why, you broken down old piece of space junk," roared Connel, "I oughta—" Connel never finished what he was going to say.
"Attention! Attention! Roger—Astro—Major Connel—come in, please! This is Tom on the Polaris!"
As if they had been struck by a bolt of lightning, the five spacemen sat up and then raced to the jet boat.
"Connel to Corbett!" roared the major. "Where are you? What happened?"
"I haven't got time to explain now, sir," said Tom. "Loring and Mason escaped and forced me to take them to Tara. I managed to overcome them and blast back here. Meet me up about fifty miles above Junior, sir. I'm bringing the Polaris in!"
"No!" yelled Connel. "It's no use, Tom. We're out of fuel. We've used up all our power."
"Then stand by," said Tom grimly. "I'm coming in for a landing!"
"No, Tom!" roared Connel. "There's nothing you can do. We're too far into the sun's pull. You'll never blast off again!"
"I don't care if we all wind up as cinders," said Tom, "I'm coming in!"