There was one way to get aboard a spaceship without having to produce a pass or wait for a computer check. You could go aboard as part of a tour party. It was Julie's idea. They waited a few hours to give the authorities enough time to deliver the prisoners to the Dolomite. Then they came to the Staten Island launch site.

All ships picked up extra income by letting sight-seeing parties aboard while they were in port, lifting them up to the ship's orbit in a chemical launching craft. Touring the spaceships was a popular entertainment, as in a bygone year people had gone into New York Harbor to visit battleships when the fleet was in. Spaceships were still novel enough, that people paid just to walk aboard one.

With the passengers aboard, the little craft lifted lightly and soon was high above Jersey City. Julie looked through a viewport and saw the earth below looking like a swirly blue-white basketball. Passengers ate hot dogs and talked with each other until the lander arrived at the Dolomite's geosynchronous orbit and locked onto one of the ship's entry ports.

Hoban, with Stan and Julie, came aboard the Dolomite with a group of eight other people, just a few of the hundreds who came up here every day from the Staten Island Spaceport. Accompanying them was a guide. He was giving his standard spiel about thruster jets and diosynchronous interruptor-type impellers and standard warp capacities.

"Right this way, folks," the tour guide was saying. He was a large man with pale blond hair, and wore a white vest with lavender polka dots under a crimson blazer. "Right this way you'll find the refreshment stand and, just beyond it, the souvenir booth. They carry official ship's souvenirs. Folks, these items are not sold in stores in the city. You can only get them here. There's a hall of diorama views of approaches to various planets. There's even a snack bar featuring delicacies from this world and many others. Right this way—"

The guide broke off his spiel when he noticed something unusual happening.

"Excuse me, you people there!"

He was talking to three people, two men and a woman, who had moved in the opposite direction from the crowd and now were about to open a door marked no admittance except to authorized personnel in five different languages.

"Did you mean us?" one of the men said. He was short and plump and wore glasses. The woman beside him was a handsome creature, slim and with magnificent chestnut-red hair. She was beautiful even with the livid scar that ran down one cheek. The other man, somewhat older than the first two, looked dazed.

"Yes, you," the guide said. "Can't you read the sign on the door?"

"Of course we can," Stan replied. "It doesn't pertain to us."

"You're not trying to tell me you're ship's crew?"

"Certainly not," Stan said. "I'm the new owner." "Impossible! I would have been told." "I'm telling you right now. We're going aboard." Stan pushed at the door. The guide moved to stop him, then stopped abruptly when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The young woman had seized him, and she had a grip of steel.

"Madame, unhand me!" the guide said, trying to make a joke out of it, because people from the tour were staring. He tried to shake free, but Julie's fingers didn't budge.

"I'll be happy to let you go," she said. "Just don't interfere with the new owner."

"I have no proof that he's the new owner!" the guide said.

Julie shrugged. "What difference does it make to you, anyhow, who runs the ship? You've got your concession.

You're selling your tickets and your hot dogs. You're doing all right."

The guide considered. He didn't want any trouble, life was hard enough, why stir up trouble with people who were probably nutcases? The woman with the strong hands was right, what difference did it make to him?

"Do whatever you want," he said, stepping back as Julie released his shoulder.

Stan pushed open the door that led into the Dolomite proper. As it opened, an alarm went off deep inside the ship.

The lights in the corridor behind the door began to flash.. There was a sound of heavy running feet, and then two men in brown security-guard uniforms came hurrying up with carbines at port arms.

"What's going on?" one of the guards asked. "Halt, you people! No one is allowed here."

"We're authorized personnel," Stan said. "I'm the new owner and these are my associates. Kindly escort us to your commanding officer."

"Back off at once or I'll fire," the guard said. "This weapon is set for immediate paralysis. The company is not responsible for any broken limbs or other injuries suffered while resisting authorized orders."

Julie said, "I warn you not to fire that thing." Her body tensed. She seemed ready to throw herself at the guards.

There was a moment of impasse. The guards weren't sure what to do. The situation wasn't quite serious enough to warrant firing. Not yet. On the other hand, what were they supposed to do? They knew they could get into a lot of trouble if they didn't handle this right. A tall man in officer's uniform came from a doorway inside the ship. "What is going on here?" he asked.

The senior guard said, "These people are trying to break in, Mr. Gill."

Gill had a long, dark, mournful face. His features were small. His typical expression, in common with those of many androids, was impassive and a little melancholy. He stared at the new arrivals unbelievingly.

At last he said, "Captain Hoban? Dr. Myakovsky?"

"And I am Julie Lish," Julie said, holding out her hand.

Gill hesitated, then shook Julie's hand.

One of the guards asked, "Do you know these people, sir?"

"Yes," Gill said. "Stand back and let me handle this."

The guards saluted and moved back against a wall.

"What is going on, Captain?" Gill asked.

Hoban looked unsure of himself, but his voice was firm enough as he answered, "Mr. Gill, I have decided to take command of the Dolomite again."

"But, sir," Gill protested, "a duly appointed court stripped you of this command and gave it to me to hold until the new captain arrives."

"They had no right to relieve me of command," Hoban said.

"Are you sure of that, sir?"

"Of course I'm sure, and I am taking over the ship again pending a formal hearing."

"Perhaps you have that right, sir. I wouldn't know. But meantime there is a legal decision against you, and to the best of my knowledge that has not been rescinded."

Hoban looked confused. Stan put in, "We are going to appeal that ruling. A higher court can be counted on to reverse the decision."

"I sincerely hope so, sir. But in the meantime—"

"In the meantime," Hoban interrupted, showing a firmness that Stan had not been sure he possessed, "things return to where they were before. I will retain command of this ship until the higher court rules."

"Unfortunately, sir, I am bound by the lower court's decree."

"Your first loyalty," Hoban said, "is to me."

Gill looked doubtful. "That is not how my orders read, sir."

"Hang your orders!" Hoban cried. "I am giving you a direct command."

Gill looked puzzled, worried. "My orders are to fire on you or anyone else who tries to board this ship."

"I don't believe you'll do that, Gill." Hoban started to walk toward the entry leading to the interior of the ship.

"Guards!" Gill called sharply. "Switch to killing mode."

There was a double click as the guards switched their pulse rifles to killing mode.

Hoban smiled with a confidence he didn't feel and walked toward the entry.

Gill cried, "Stop!"

Stan and Julie fell into step beside Hoban, who continued to advance.

Gill stared at them. There was something like despair on his face. He said, "I must do what I must."

"And what is that, Gill?" Stan asked him.

Gill said, "Guards!"

The guards snapped to attention.

"Meet your new commander."

The guards saluted Hoban, who returned the salute.

"Now turn off your weapons"—another double click—"and attend to the incoming crew. They should be arriving any minute. Then you are dismissed."

"Yes, sir!" Both guards saluted, turned on their heels, and marched off.

"Welcome aboard, Commander," Gill said.

"Thank you, Gill," Hoban said. "I knew I could count on your loyalty."

"It's my conditioning that turned things your way, sir," Gill said. "I could not fire on you, nor ask the guards to do so. After our many tours of duty together, you and I have developed too many bonds. But I still think what you are doing is illegal."

"I know you feel that way," Hoban said. "You may leave when the guards return to Earth, and no hard feelings." He held out his hand.

Gill looked at it for a moment, then shook it. "If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to come along."

"But why, if you think this is illegal?"

"I don't care if it's illegal or not," Gill said. "I was just stating a fact. Since I couldn't fire on you, my conditioning in favor of government authority is canceled.

I'm your man again, Captain, if you'll have me."

"It's likely to be dangerous," Hoban said.

"That is a matter of indifference to me."

"Then I'll be pleased to have you, Mr. Gill." Captain Hoban smiled.

"If you two are finished waltzing," Julie said sarcastically, "do you think we could get on with it?"

They accompanied Gill into the ship and to the control room.

Julie said to Gill, "How did you know what decision to make?"

"I didn't know," Gill muttered. "Androids don't have to make decisions. We just follow our conditioning." "Lucky androids," Julie said.

"Gill, we're having some baggage lifted up from the space station," Stan put in. "With it there will be a large packing case. Please see that it is handled gently."

"Yes, sir."

"When they arrive, get the crew bundled down in hypersleep. And get all the tourists off this ship. I want us ready to depart an hour after the crew is aboard and bedded down."

Gill looked at Captain Hoban.

The captain nodded. "Accept his orders as if they were mine."

The volunteers for the voyage of the Dolomite marched in single file under the watchful eyes of armed guards. They left the olive-drab prison lander and marched into the short connecting tube that led into the ship proper. As soon as they were aboard, they all burst into a cheer. The guards gave them hard looks, but put away their weapons and returned to the lander, accompanied by the two guards from the Dolomite. Their job was to see that the prisoners got aboard the ship; once aboard, they were no longer prisoners, though not quite free men, either. The arrangement was that they'd report to the proper authorities after returning from their voyage, and show their good-conduct papers signed by the captain, and receive either a commutation of sentence or a complete amnesty. In practice, many of them never bothered to return, and their names went on a wanted list, to which the authorities gave only minor attention.

There were always plenty of new criminals to deal with; no one had any time for the older ones.

They followed the signs that had been set up to guide them to their quarter. But Walter Glint, a short, dark-haired barrel-chested man from Natchez who was Badger's closest friend aboard, noticed that Red Badger wasn't even bothering to look where he was going.

"Hey, Red! You been on this ship before?"

"You bet I have," Red Badger said. "I know her layout like the back of my hand."

"How come you never said anything about it when that Hoban guy asked if you'd met before?"

Badger shrugged. "If he didn't remember, I wasn't going to remind him. It was a pretty bad time for him. I'll tell you about it later."

They went into the crew's quarters. There was plenty of room. The Dolomite normally carried a crew of thirty-five, but Hoban had pared it down to the bare minimum after consulting with Stan. There was no trouble finding berths. Badger and Glint claimed their own corner, and were joined by their best friends from the federal facility. One of these, Connie Mindanao, was a diminutive woman, brown-skinned and black-haired and fierce looking, her features showing evidence of her mixed ancestry. She was the unlikely combination of a Moro from the Philippines and a Mohawk from New York's Iroquois Confederation.

The only thing the two peoples had had in common was a history of head-hunting. Of the other two, one was a big black man from California named Andy Groggins, and the second was a taciturn Laotian hill woman who didn't say much but whose actions were direct and sudden, and apt to be lethal; her name was Min Dwin.

There were others who were friendly with Badger, and some who downright hated him. They sorted out their sleeping arrangements accordingly.

Badger was used to being the center of attention.

A voice came over the loudspeaker. "All crew! Put away your gear and strip for hypersleep. Everybody must be on his acceleration couch in five minutes."

Badger called out, "What's our destination?"

His voice was picked up by a wall monitor. "There'll be a full briefing immediately upon your awakening," the loudspeaker voice replied. "How long we going to sleep this time?" Badger asked.

"That information will be fed into the hypersleep machinery. No more questions, people! Get ready."

Connie Mindanao said, "What are they trying to pull on us? I don't know if I'm going to stand still for this." She looked at Badger. "What do you think, Red ?"

"Relax," Badger told her. "Nothing much we can do about it just now. The ship's sealed, and anyhow, the guards are still outside. We've got no chance of making a run for it."

They all settled down onto their hypersleep couches. The lights dimmed.