himself tilting undignifiedly forward or back--or, with equal
unpredictability, sidewise. He would have to learn an entirely new
method of walking.

A man came in the lock, and Joe knew who it was. Sanford, the senior
scientist of the Platform's crew. Joe had seen him often enough on the
television screen in the Communications Room at the Shed. Now Sanford
looked nerve-racked, but his eyes were bright and his expression
sardonic.

"My compliments," he said, his voice tight with irony, "for a splendidly
futile job well done! You've got your cargo invoice?"

Joe nodded. Sanford held out his hand. Joe fumbled in his pocket and
brought out the yellow sheet.

"I'd like to introduce my crew," said Joe. "This is Haney, and Chief
Bender, and Mike Scandia." He waved his hand, and his whole body wobbled
unexpectedly.

"We'll know each other!" said Sanford sardonically. "Our first job is
more futility--to get the guided missiles you've brought us into the
launching tubes. A lot of good they'll do!"

A huge plate in the roof of the lock--but it was not up or down or in
any particular direction--withdrew itself. A man floated through the
opening and landed on the ship's hull; another man followed him.

"Chief," said Joe, "and Haney. Will you open the cargo doors?"