chair and threw over the curved thigh grips that would hold him in
place.

Suddenly he was oriented. He had seen this room before--before the
Platform was launched. True, the man at the radar screens was
upside-down with reference to himself, and Sanford had hooked a knee
negligently around the arm of a firmly anchored chair with his body at
right angles to Joe's own, but at least Joe knew where he was and what
he was to do.

"Go ahead and report," said Sanford sardonically. "You might tell them
that you heroically destroyed the rockets that attacked us, and that
your crew behaved splendidly, and that you have landed in the Space
Platform and the situation is well in hand. It isn't, but it will make
nice headlines."

Joe said evenly, "Our arrival's been reported?"

"No," said Sanford, grinning. "Obviously the radar down on
Earth--shipboard ones on this hemisphere, of course--have reported that
the Platform still exists. But we haven't communicated since the bombs
went off. They probably think we had so many punctures that we lost all
our air and are all wiped out. They'll be glad to hear from you that we
aren't."

Joe threw a switch, frowning. This wasn't right. Sanford was the senior
scientist on board and hence in command, because he was best-qualified
to direct the scientific observations the Platform was making. But there
was something specifically wrong.