The spaceman snapped, "You're under arrest."
Rip stared incredulously. "What for?"
"The commander's orders. Don't give me any arguments. Just get aboard."
"I can't argue with a loaded gun," Rip said wearily. He called to his men. "We're under arrest. I don't know why. Don't try to resist. Do as the spacemen order."
Rip got aboard the nearest landing boat, his head spinning. O'Brine had made a mistake of some kind. The landing boats, loaded with Planeteers and Connies, lifted from the asteroid to the cruiser. They slid smoothly into the air locks and settled. The massive lock doors slid closed and lights flickered on. Rip waited, trying to keep consciousness from slipping away.
The lock gauges registered normal air, and the inner valves slid open. Commander O'Brine stepped through, his square jaw outthrust and his face flushed with anger. He bellowed, "Where's Foster?"
His voice was so loud Rip heard him faintly even through the bubble. He stepped out of the landing boat and faced the irate commander.
O'Brine ordered, "Get him out of that suit." Two spacemen jumped forward. One twisted Rip's bubble free and lifted it off. The heavy air of the ship hit him with physical force.
O'Brine grated, "You're under arrest, Foster, for[pg 157] firing on the Scorpius, for insubordination, and for conduct unbecoming an officer. Get out of that suit and get flaming. It's the spacepot for you."
Rip had to grin. He couldn't help it. He started to reply, but the heavy air of the cruiser, so much richer and denser than that of the suits, was too much. He slumped unconscious.