Rip Foster in Ride the Gray Planet | Page 4

fighting rockets, and they never failed to interest him. But there wasn't time to
admire them now. He went back up the ladder with two strong heaves, found the right
ladder, and dropped down without touching. His knees flexed to take up the shock. He
came out of the crouch facing a black-clad Planeteer sergeant who snapped to rigid
attention.
"Koa," Rip barked. "Where can I find him?"
"He's not here, sir. He and eight men left fifteen minutes ago. I don't know where they
went, sir."
Rip shot a worried glance at his wrist chronometer. He had two minutes left before the

cruiser departed. No more time now to search for his men. He hoped the sergeant major
had sense enough to be waiting at some reasonable place. He went up the ladder hand
over hand and sped down the corridor to the supply room. The spaceman first class in
charge of supplies was turning an audio-mag through a hand viewer, chuckling at the
cartoons. At the sight of Rip's flushed, anxious face he dropped the machine. "Yessir?"
"I need a spack. Full gear, including bubble."
"Yessir." The spaceman looked him over with a practiced eye. "One full space pack.
Medium-large, right, sir?"
"Correct." Rip took the counter stylus and inscribed his name, serial number, and
signature on the blank plastic sheet. Gears whirred as the data was recorded.
The spaceman vanished into an inner room and reappeared in a moment lugging a plastic
case called a space pack, or "spack" for short. It contained complete personal equipment
for space travel. Rip grabbed it. "Fast service. Thanks, Rocky." All spacemen were called
"Rocky" if you didn't know their names. It was an abbreviation for rocketeer, a title all of
them had once carried.
Valve Eight was some distance away. Rip decided a cross ramp would be faster than the
moving track. He swung the spack to his shoulder and made his legs go. Seconds were
ticking off, and he had an idea that the SCN Scorpius would make space on time, whether
or not he arrived. He lengthened his stride and rounded a turn by going right up on the
wall, using a powerful leg thrust against a ventilator tube for momentum.
He passed an observation port as he reached the platform rim, and caught a glimpse of
ruddy rocket exhaust flames outlined against the dark curve of Earth. That would be the
Terra rocket making its controlled fall to home, with Flip aboard. Without slowing, he
leaped across the high-speed track, narrowly missing a senior space officer. He shouted
his apologies, and gained the entrance to Valve Eight just as the high buzz of the
radiation warning sounded, signaling a nuclear drive cruiser preparing to take off.
Nine faces of assorted colors and expressions turned to him. He had a quick impression
of black tunics and trousers. He had found his detachment! Without slowing, he called,
"Follow me!"
The cruiser's safety officer had been keeping an eye on the clock, his forehead creased in
a frown as he saw that only a few seconds remained to departure time. He walked to the
valve opening and looked out. If his passengers were not in sight, he would have to reset
the clock.
Rip went through the valve opening at top speed. He crashed head on into the safety
officer.
The safety officer was driven across the deck, his arms pumping for balance. He grabbed
at the nearest thing, which happened to be the deputy cruiser commander.

The preset clock reached firing time. The valve slid shut and the takeoff bell reverberated
through the ship.
And so it happened that the spacemen of the SCN Scorpius turned their valves, threw
their controls and disengaged their boron control rods, and the great cruiser flashed into
space--while the deputy commander and the safety officer were completely tangled with
a very flustered and unhappy new Planeteer lieutenant.
Sergeant Major Koa and his men had made it before the valve closed. Koa, a seven-foot
Hawaiian, took in the situation and said crisply in a voice all could hear, "I'll bust the
bubble of any son of a space sausage who laughs!"

CHAPTER TWO
Rake That Radiation!
The deputy commander and the safety officer got untangled and hurried to their post,
with no more than black looks at Rip. He got to his feet, his face crimson with
embarrassment. A fine entrance for a Planeteer officer, especially one on his first orders!
Around him the spacemen were settling in their acceleration seats or snapping belts to
safety hooks. From the direction of the stern came a rising roar as methane, heated to a
liquid, dropped into the blast tubes, flaming into pure carbon and hydrogen under the
terrible heat of the atomic drive.
Rip had to