Though the Company ship was probably one of the smallest Inter-Solar carried on her rosters, it was a third again as large as the Queen—­with part of that third undoubtedly dedicated to extra cargo space.  Beside her their own spacer would seem not only smaller, but battered and worn.  But no Free Trader would have willingly assumed the badges of a Company man, not even for the command of such a ship fresh from the cradles of a builder.

When a man went up from the training Pool for his first assignment, he was sent to the ship where his temperament, training and abilities best fitted.  And those who were designated as Free Traders would never fit into the pattern of Company men.  Of late years the breech between those who lived under the strict parental control of one of the five great galaxy wide organizations and those still too much of an individual to live any life but that of a half-explorer-half-pioneer which was the Free Trader’s, had widened alarmingly.  Antagonism flared, rivalry was strong.  But as yet the great Companies themselves were at polite cold war with one another for the big plums of the scattered systems.  The Free Traders took the crumbs and there was not much disputing—­save in cases such as had arisen on Sargol, when suddenly crumbs assumed the guise of very rich cake, rich and large enough to attract a giant.

The party from the Queen was given a peremptory challenge as they reached the other ship’s ramp.  Rip demanded to see the officer of the watch and then told the story of the wounded man as far as they knew it.  The Eysie was hurried aboard—­nor did his shipmates give a word of thanks.

“That’s that.”  Rip shrugged.  “Let’s go before they slam the hatch so hard they’ll rock their ship off her fins!”

“Polite, aren’t they?” asked Weeks mildly.

“What do you expect of Eysies?” Ali wanted to know.  “To them Free Traders are just rim planet trash.  Let’s report back where we are appreciated.”

They took a short cut which brought them back to the Queen and they filed up her ramp to make their report to the Captain.

But they were not yet satisfied with Groft and his gorp slayers.  No Salarik appeared for trade in the morning—­surprising the Terrans.  Instead a second delegation, this time of older men and a storm priest, visited the spacer with an invitation to attend Paft’s funeral feast, a rite which would be followed by the formal elevation of Groft to his father’s position, now that he had revenged that parent.  And from remarks dropped by members of the delegation it was plain that the bearing of the Terrans who had joined the hunting party was esteemed to have been in highest accord with Salariki tradition.