"I get you," Tom interrupted. "It costs at least two hundred credits in fuel alone to get one of these chemical jalopies off the ground!"
Roger looked at Tom solemnly. "You know, Tom, I'd certainly like to know what those guys are doing. You just don't hand out free rides in space."
"How about snooping around?" asked Astro.
Tom thought a moment. "O.K. You two stay here. I'll go aft and see what they're doing."
Tom walked quickly to the stern of the ship, entered the power-deck hatch, and disappeared. Astro and Roger, each taking one side of the ship, strained for a look from the viewports. In a few minutes Tom returned.
"Spot anything?" asked Roger.
"I'm not so sure," answered Tom. "They weren't on the power deck and the cargo hatch was locked. I looked out the stern viewport, but all I could see was a thick black cloud."
"Well, that's no help," said Roger. Suddenly the blond cadet snapped his fingers. "Tom, I'll bet they're smugglers!"
"What?" asked Tom.
"That's it," said Roger. "I'll bet that's it. The concession is just a phony to cover up their smuggling. It lets them take a load of stuff up without a custom's search. Then, when they're far enough out—"