But Van Rycke, his smile a brilliant stretch across his plump face, was nodding in agreement.  “They’re taking over our contract and our place with the Salariki.”

“In return for what?” Steen Wilcox asked for them all.

“For twenty-five thousand credits and a mail run between Xecho and Trewsworld—­frontier planets.  They’re far enough from Terra to get around the exile ruling.  The Patrol will escort us out and see that we get down to work like good little space men.  We’ll have two years of a nice, quiet run on regular pay.  Then, when all the powers that shine have forgotten about us, we can cut in on the trade routes again.”

“And the pay?” “First or second class mail?” “When do we start?”

“Standard pay on the completion of each run—­Board rates,” he made replies in order.  “First, second and third class mail—­anything that bears the government seal and out in those quarters it is apt to be anything!  And you start as soon as you can get to Xecho and relieve the Combine scout which has been holding down the run.”

“While you go to Sargol—­” commented Jellico.

“While I make one voyage to Sargol.  You can spare me,” he dropped one of his big hands on Dane’s shoulder and gave the flesh beneath it a quick squeeze.  “Seeing as how our juniors helped pull us out of this last mix-up we can trust them about an inch farther than we did before.  Anyway—­Cargo-master on a mail run is more or less a thumb-twiddling job at the best.  And you can trust Thorson on stowage—­that’s one thing he does know.”  Which dubious ending left Dane wondering as to whether he had been complimented or warned.  “I’ll be on board again before you know it—­the Combine will ship me out to Trewsworld on your second trip across and I’ll join ship there.  For once we won’t have to worry for awhile.  Nothing can happen on a mail run.”  He shook his head at the three youngest members of the crew.  “You’re in for a very dull time—­and it will serve you right.  Give you a chance to learn your jobs so that when you come up for reassignment you can pick up some of those files you were just demoted.  Now,” he started briskly for the door, “I’ll tranship to the Combine cruiser.  I take it that you don’t want to meet the Video people?”

At their hasty agreement to that, he laughed.  “Well, the Patrol doesn’t want the Video spouting about ‘high-handed official news suppression’ so about an hour or so from now you’ll be let out the back way.  They put the Queen in a cradle and a field scooter will take you to her.  You’ll find her serviced for a take-off to Luna City.  You can refit there for deep space.  Frankly the sooner you get off-world the happier all ranks are going to be—­both here and on the Board.  It will be better for us to walk softly for a while and let them forget that the Solar Queen and her crazy crew exists.  Separately and together you’ve managed to break—­or at least bend—­half the laws in the books and they’d like to have us out of their minds.”