"What—wh—" he stammered and then caught himself. "How dare you do this to me?" he demanded.
"Shut up!" snapped Tom. "What are you doing here?"
"None of your business," the man replied.
"I'm making it my business," snapped Tom, pressing the gun into the man's back. "Who are you and how did you get in here?"
The man turned and looked Tom in the eye. "I have a right to be here," he stated coldly. "I'll show you my identification—" He brought his hands down and reached into his jacket, but Roger stepped over quickly and brought the barrel of his gun down sharply on the man's head. He slumped to the floor with a groan and was still.
"What did you do that for?" growled Tom.
Roger didn't reply. He reached down into the unconscious man's jacket and pulled out a small paralo-ray gun stuck in the top of his waistband. "Some identification," Roger drawled.
"Thanks, pal," said Tom sheepishly. "Let's search him. Maybe we can find out who he is."
As Roger bent over the fallen man, there was a commotion in the hangar outside the ship, followed by the sound of footsteps clattering up the ladders to the ports. Seconds later, Astro, followed by Tim Rush and a squad of enlisted spacemen, surged into the compartment. Rush stopped short when he saw the man on the floor.
"Great jumping Jupiter," gasped the petty officer, then whirled on Tom and Roger. "You space-blasted idiots!" he shouted. "You good-for-nothing harebrained, moronic dumbbells! Do you know what you've done?"