The skipper choked, spluttered, and disgorged a bite of half-masticated pancake.
"Eka—Great balls of fire! Are you sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure. I told you days ago that I was born and raised in the Belt, Captain."
"I know. But why didn't you tell me about Vesta before? I mean about the ekalastron deposits?"
"Why—why, because—" said Slops. "Because—"
"Don't give me lady-logic, you dope!" roared the Old Man, an enraged lion now, his breakfast completely forgotten. "Give me a sensible answer! If you'd told me that instead of just yipping and yapping about how via Iris was a nicer route I'd have listened to you! As it is, we're blasting smack-dab into the face of danger. And us on the most vital mission of the whole ding-busted war!"
He was out of his seat, bustling to the audio, buzzing Lieutenant Wainwright on the bridge.
"Johnny—that you? Listen, change traj quick! Set a new course through the Belt by way of Iris and the Bog, and hurry up, because—"
What reason he planned to give I do not know, for he never finished that sentence. At that moment the Leo rattled like a Model AA spacesled in an ionic storm, rolled, quivered and slewed like a drunk on a freshly-waxed floor. The motion needed no explanation; it was unmistakeable to any spacer who has ever hopped the blue. Our ship had been gripped, and was now securely locked, in the clutch of a tractor beam!