Then the vision-screen on the tug lighted up. Lieutenant Commander Brown looked out of it, quietly grim. Joe flicked on his own transmitter. He nodded.
"Mr. Kenmore," said Brown evenly, "I did not contact you before because I was not certain that contact could be made. How many passengers can you take back to the Platform?"
Joe blinked at him.
"I haven't any idea," he said. "But I'm going to hitch on and use our rockets to land you."
"I do not think it practicable," said Brown calmly. "I believe the only result of such a course will be the loss of both ships with all hands. I will give you a written authorization to return on my order. But since all my crew can't return, how many can you take? I have ten married men aboard. Six have children. Can you take six? Or all ten?" Then he said without a trace of emphasis, "Of course, none of them will be officers."
"If I tried to turn back now, I think my crew would mutiny," Joe said coldly. "I'd hate to think they wouldn't, anyhow! We're going to hook on and play this out the way it lies!"
There was a pause. Then Brown spoke again. "Mr. Kenmore, I was hoping you'd say that. Actually—er—not to be quoted, you understand—actually, intelligent defiance has always been in the traditions of the Navy. Of course, you're not in the Navy, Kenmore, but right now it looks like the Navy is in your hands. Like a battleship in the hands of a tug. Good luck, Kenmore."
Joe flicked off the screen. "You know," he said, winking at Mike, "I guess Brown isn't such a bad egg after all. Let's go!"
In minutes, the space tug had a line made fast. In half an hour, the two space craft were bound firmly together, but far enough apart for the rocket blasts to dissipate before they reached the Moonship. Mike returned to the tug. A pair of the big Mark Twenty rockets burned frenziedly in emptiness.
The Moonship was slowed by a fraction of its speed. The deceleration was hardly perceptible.