The Astrogator-apprentice had his own problems.  To bring the Queen down on the circumscribed field of an E-Stat—­without a guide beam to ride in—­since if they contacted the Stat they must reveal their own com was working and they would have to answer questions—­was the sort of test even a seasoned pilot would tense over.  Yet Rip was sitting now in the Captain’s place, his broad hands spread out on the edge of the control board waiting.  And below in the engine room Ali was in Stotz’s place ready to fire and cut rockets at order.  Of course they were both several years ahead of him in Service, Dane knew.  But he wondered at their quick assumption of responsibility and whether he himself could ever reach that point of self-confidence—­his memory turning to the bad mistake be had made on Sargol.

There was the sharp note of a warning gong, the flash of red light on the control board.  They were off automatic, from here on in it was all Kip’s work.  Dane strapped down at the silent com-unit and was startled a moment later when it spat words at him, translated from space code.

“Identify—­identify—­I-S E-Stat calling spacer—­identify—­”

So compelling was that demand that Dane’s fingers went to the answer key before he remembered and snatched them back, to fold his hands in his lap.

“Identify—­” the expressionless voice of the translator droned over their heads.

Rip’s hands were on the control board, playing the buttons there with the precision of a musician creating some symphonic masterpiece.  And the Queen was alive, now quivering through her stout plates, coming into a landing.

Dane watched the visa plate.  The E-Stat asteroid was of a reasonable size, but in their eyes it was a bleak, torn mote of stuff swimming through vast emptiness.

“Identify—­” the drone heightened in pitch.

Rip’s lips were compressed, he made quick calculations.  And Dane saw that, though Jellico was the master, Rip was fully fit to follow in the Captain’s boot prints.

There was a sudden silence in the cabin—­the demand had stopped.  The agents below must now have realized that the ship with the distress signals blazing on her nose was not going to reply.  Dane found he could not watch the visa plate now, Rip’s hands about their task filled his whole range of sight.

He knew that Shannon was using every bit of his skill and knowledge to jockey them into the position where they could ride their tail rockets down to the scorched rock of the E-Stat field.  Perhaps it wasn’t as smooth a landing as Jellico could have made.  But they did it.  Rip’s hands were quiet, again that patch of darkness showed on the back of his tunic.  He made no move from his seat.

“Secure—­” Ali’s voice floated up to them.

Dane unbuckled his safety webbing and got up, looking to Shannon for orders.  This was Rip’s plan they were to carry through.  Then something moved him to give honor where it was due.  He touched that bowed shoulder before him.