The old freighter swung a great circle, its torsion jets blasting desperately in an effort to keep it on an even keel. This, thought Comets Carter, was it. This was the foul revenge that Rogue Rogan had planned, the evil death he had plotted with his unhuman companions. In a moment the pulsating radiations of electroid rays would set off the cargo of ghoulite, and when the interplanetary echoes of the explosion died away, Comets Carter would be no more than a series of photon packets, his body torn apart, his very atoms converted into radiation that was hurtling with the speed of light to the far corners of the universe....
It hadn't happened that way, of course. But if it had happened—well, it might have on just such a tub as this.
A guard saw him peering through the fence, and said, "What are you looking at, kid?"
"Those ships," said Plato, honestly enough. And then he added, to throw the man off the track, "Gee, I'd be scared to go up in one of them. No, sir, you couldn't get me into one of them for a million credits."
The man laughed. "They're not for the likes of you. A lot of those ships go to other stars."
"Other stars? Gosh! Does that little one, the Marie T.—"
"That tub? Just an interplanetary freighter. But even that isn't for you. Now run along and mind your own business."
Plato was happy to run along. Unfortunately, he realized, running along didn't help him to get past the fence.