"Please believe, sir, that your requests are orders, to me," Kinnison replied in all seriousness. Then, more lightly, "Your calling me in suggests an emergency, and traveling in this miner's scow of mine is just a trifle faster than going afoot. How about sending out something with some legs to pick me up?"
"The Dauntless, for instance?"
"Oh—you've got her rebuilt already?"
"Yes."
"I'll bet she's a sweet clipper! She was a mighty slick stepper before; now she must have more legs than a centipede!"
And so it came about that in a region of space entirely empty of all other vessels as far as ultrapowerful detectors could reach, the Dauntless met Kinnison's tugboat. The two went inert and maneuvered briefly, then the immense warship engulfed her tiny companion and flashed away.
"Hi, Kim, you old son-of-a-space-flea!" A general yell arose at sight of him, and irrepressible youth rioted, regardless of Regs, in this reunion of old comrades-in-arms who were yet scarcely more than boys in years.
"His Nibs says for you to call 'im, Kim, when we're about an hour out from Prime Base," Commander Maitland informed his classmate irreverently, as the Dauntless neared the Solarian System.
"Plate or Lens?"
"Didn't say—as you like, I suppose."