This was easy to accomplish. The mass of Earth is six billion trillion tons; the mass of Terra Station is one hundred-million-billionth of that, a mere 600,000 tons. At ten miles the "weight" of the Randolph with respect to Terra Station was roughly one thirtieth of an ounce, about the weight on Earth of enough butter for one half slice of bread.
On entering the Randolph Matt found himself in a large, well-lighted compartment of odd shape, somewhat like a wedge of cake. Clumps of youngster cadets were being herded out exits by other cadets who wore black armbands. One such cadet headed toward him, moving through the air with the easy grace of a pollywog. "Squad nineteen-where's the squad leader of squad nineteen?"
Matt held out his arm. "Here, sir! I'm squad leader of nineteen."
The upperclassman checked himself with one hand on the guide line to which Matt still clung. "I relieve you, sir. But stick close to me and help me round up these yahoos. I suppose you know them by sight?"
"Uh, I think so, sir."
"You should-you've had time." Matt was chagrined to find, in the next few moments that the new squad leader-Cadet Lopez-knew the squad muster roll by heart, whereas Matt had to refer to his copy to assist him in locating the members. He was not really aware of the implications of order and efficient preparation; it did impress him as "style." With Matt to spot and Lopez to dive, hawk like, all the way across the compartment if necessary, to round up stragglers, squad nineteen was soon assembled near one exit, where they clung like a colony of bats.
"Follow me," Lopez told them, "and hang on. No free maneuvers. Dodson- bring up the rear."
"Aye aye, sir."
They snaked their way through endless passages, by guide line across compartment after compartment, through hatches, around corners. Matt was quite lost. Presently the man just head of him stopped. Matt closed in and found the squad gathered just inside another compartment. "Soup's on," announced Lopez. "This is your mess room. Lunch in a few minutes."
Behind Lopez, secured firmly to the far wall, were mess tables and benches. The table tops faced Matt-under him, over him, or across from him- what you will. It seemed an impractical arrangement. "I'm not very hungry," one youngster said faintly.