"All us Jarmans are portly," Tex went on defensively. "He should see my Uncle Bodie. Then he-"
"Skip it," said Matt. "I know the rest of it-now."
"Well, I guess I shouldn't have lost my temper."
"Probably not." Matt looked through the book. "Maybe this will help. It says here that, in case of doubt, you may insist that the officer giving the order put it in writing and stamp his thumb print, or use other means to provide a permanent record."
"Does it, really?" Tex grabbed the book. "That's for me!- 'cause I sure am in doubt. Boy! Just wait and see his face when I pull this one."
"I'd like to," agreed Matt. "Which way do you take the lift, Tex?" The Patrol Rocket Ship Simon Bolivar, transport, was at Santa Barbara Field, having discharged a battalion of Space Marines, but P.R.S. Bolivar could take but about half the new class. The rest were to take the public shuttle rocket from Pike's Peak, launching catapult to Terra Space Station, there to be transferred to the Randolph.
"Transport," Tex answered. "How about you?"
"Me, too. I'd like to see Terra Station, but I'm glad we're going in a Patrol ship. What are you taking with you?"
Tex hauled out his luggage and hefted it. "It's a problem. I've got about fifty pounds here. Do you suppose if I rolled it up real small I could get it down to twenty pounds?"
"An interesting theory," Matt said. "Let's have a look at it-you've got to eliminate thirty pounds of penalty-weight."