The inner door of the entrance lock grated open and a spacesuited figure limped into the room. The spacesuit visor snapped up and a brush of grey whiskers spouted into view.
It was Gus Hamilton.
He glared at Moe. "What in tarnation is all this foolishness?" he demanded. "Got your message, I did, and here I am. But it better be important."
He hobbled to the bar. Moe reached for a bottle and shoved it toward him, keeping out of reach.
"Have some trouble?" he asked, trying to be casual.
"Trouble! Hell, yes!" blustered Gus. "But I ain't the only one that's going to have trouble. Somebody sneaked over and stole the injector out of my space crate. Had to borrow Hank's to get over here. But I know who it was. There ain't but one other ring-rat got a rocket my injector will fit."
"Bud Craney," said Moe. It was no secret. Every man in the two sectors of the Ring knew just exactly what kind of spacecraft the other had.
"That's right," said Gus, "and I'm fixing to go over into Thirty-seven and yank Bud up by the roots."
He took a jolt of liquor. "Yes, sir, I sure aim to crucify him."
His eyes lighted on Miss Henrietta Perkins.