The Falcon shrugged, glanced again through the port. Slowly the anger fled Jean's face—and a brooding puzzlement remained.
The cruiser settled with a tiny jar, lurched slightly, came to rest. Metal rasped outside, and the entrance port began to open. The Falcon came from his seat, nodded toward the port.
"Was that the truth?" Jean Harlon asked.
"Of course! I have no reason for lying. Now, let's get out of here; I've a report to make."
Three men waited outside the open port; and the first, a massive bearded giant, caught Curt in a casual hug that whitened his smeared face.
"You lucky devil!" he roared. "Been in another scrap—and got away by the skin of your teeth. Damn, but I'd like a good fight!"
The Falcon grinned, shoved his way from the giant's arms.
"Damn it, Schutler," he snapped affectionately, "you'll kill me some day with those hugs of yours!"
Schutler laughed, tugged at his beard. "Come on," he said. "I've got an experi—"