"Turretman to Executive: Object sighted. Definitely a lifeship. Doesn't look dangerous. Shall we take a chance?"
"Executive to Communications: Answer 'em on their band."
"Received. Ben, they went off the air as soon as I opened my transmitter." There was some period of silence. "Communications to Executive: Identifies himself as Guy Maynard. Says alone and safe. Cut emitter to prevent curiosity on the part of Martian observers who may be listening."
"Good fellow. He should be an Intelligence Officer. Tell him to prepare for transshipping."
"He says that after a year in that sardine can, it can't be too quick. Want him to jump?"
"Can he put on any speed?"
"His suit is still in partial operation. He can rev up about a G."
"Tell him to dive. We'll scoop him without trying to match speed."
Guy smiled vaguely. He made one last prayer that he could look as starved for company as a man would after a year in that tiny ship. He didn't stop to wonder why they'd asked him to dive. He merely prayed that his story would be acted as convincingly as his forged diary read. He'd partially committed that to memory; certain lapses would be expected. It was good and it contained several references to ideas for equipment which would help explain his sudden inventive streak. He hugged the volume to him and dived out of the open space lock. Once free of the ship, Guy turned the tiny driving fin on and he stood upright on the soles of the spacesuit shoes.