"I've strained that fuel four times and come up with the same answer," said Astro. The giant Venusian held up the oil-smeared test tube for Kit Barnard's inspection. "Impure reactant. And so impure that it couldn't possibly have come from the Academy supply depot. It would have been noticed."
"Then how did it get in my feeders?" asked Kit, half to himself.
"Whoever was messing around on the power deck just before you blasted off for the trials must have dumped it in," said Tom.
"Obviously." Kit nodded. "But who is that? Who would want to do a dirty thing like that?"
"Who indeed?" said a voice in back of them. They all spun around to face Quent Miles. He lounged against the stabilizer fin and grinned at them.
"What do you want, Miles?" asked Kit.
"Just stopped by to give you the proverbial handshake of good luck before we blast off," replied the spaceman with a mocking wink.
"Kit doesn't need your good wishes," snapped Sid.
"Well, now, that's too bad," said Quent. "I have a feeling that he's going to need a lot more than luck."
"Listen, Miles," snapped Kit, "did you come aboard my ship and tamper with the fuel?"