the lead right from the start . . .
"THE Fleet's in!" said Sergeant Shane of the Space Marines, punctuating his remark by practically knocking me out of my most comfortable dozing position in my bunk.
I blinked at him, regarding his homely red mug and his squat, powerful, ape-like physique distastefully.
"I am very tired. Go away and don't bother me," I answered. "I don't give a damn if every last tub in space is in. I have a bad hangover to combat."
Sergeant Shane playfully tweaked my ear, almost tearing it from my head.
"Now Corporal Cork," he admonished cheerfully, "don't you realize what I'm trying to tell you?"
"If you spoke anything but garbled pidgin Venusian I might be able to understand," I answered, giving up my effort to catch forty winks.
"When the Fleet comes in," Shane went cheerfully on, "it means that the F.S.S. Saturn, our rival, is also in."
"I am amazed at your remarkable deduction," I declared, sitting up on the edge of my bunk.
"And that," said Sergeant Shane, "means that the honor of the F.S.S. Western Hemisphere is at stake."
"If you are thinking of brawling in Martian night spots with the marines and tars from the Saturn you'd better give up the idea," I said. "You know what the Fleet Commander's orders are on that. If there's any inter-ship brawling the entire Fleet will be deprived of liberty tickets for the duration of our stop here."
Sergeant Shane made a tsking noise with his tongue against his wolf teeth.
"Corporal Cork," he said, "you wrong me dreadfully. I haven't been in a brawl since—"
"Since our last stopover," I cut in.
"Well anyway," Shane said rapidly,
99
