“I don’t like it,” Jellico stated as he entered.

“It was none of my doing,” Van Rycke snapped.  “I’ll take risks if I have to—­but there’s something about this one—­” he broke off, two deep lines showing between his thick brows.  “Well, you can’t teach a sasseral to spit,” he ended philosophically.  “We’ll have to do the best we can.”

But Jellico did not look at all happy as he climbed to the control section.  And before the hour was out the reason for the Captain’s uneasiness was common property throughout the ship.

Having sampled the delights of off-world herbs, the Salariki were determined to not be cut off from their source of supply.  Six Terran months from the present Sargolian date would come the great yearly feast of the Fifty Storms, and the priests were agreed that this year their influence and power would be doubled if they could offer the devout certain privileges in the form of Terran plants.  Consequently they had produced and forced upon the reluctant Van Rycke the Koros collection of their order, with instructions that it be sold on Terra and the price returned to them in the precious seeds and plants.  In vain the Cargo-master and Captain had pointed out that Galactic trade was a chancy thing at the best, that accident might prevent return of the Queen to Sargol.  But the priests had remained adamant and saw in all such arguments only a devious attempt to raise prices.  They quoted in their turn the information they had levered out of the Company men—­that Traders had their code and that once pay had been given in advance the contract must be fulfilled.  They, and they alone, wanted the full cargo of the Queen on her next voyage, and they were taking the one way they were sure of achieving that result.

So a fortune in Koros stones which as yet did not rightfully belong to the Traders was now in the Queen’s strong-room and her crew were pledged by the strongest possible tie known in their Service to set down on Sargol once more before the allotted time had passed.  The Free Traders did not like it, there was even a vaguely superstitious feeling that such a bargain would inevitably draw ill luck to them.  But they were left with no choice if they wanted to retain their influence with the Salariki.

“Cutting orbit pretty fine, aren’t we?” Ali asked Rip across the mess table.  “I saw your two star man sweating it out before he came down to shoot the breeze with us rocket monkeys—­”

Rip nodded.  “Steen’s double checked every computation and some he’s done four times.”  He ran his hands over his close cropped head with a weary gesture.  As a semi-invalid he had been herded down with his fellows to swallow the builder Mura had concocted and Tau insisted that they take, but he had been doing a half a night’s work on the plotter under his chief’s exacting eye before he came.  “The latest news is that, barring accident, we can make it with about three weeks’ grace, give or take a day or two—­”