AFTERWARD, AS THEY stood in the control turret of the Libra, watching a sober-faced Rick Norton plot the landing that would bring new life to the Ionian colonists, swift retribution to the fomenters of the uprising, Bud Chandler whaled his comrade’s back enthusiastically.
“Guy,” he said, “in words of one syllable, you’re terrific!”
“That’s not one syllable,” grinned Mallory.
“All right, then, you’re a lallapalooza! But how the blue asteroids did you get onto the fact Smith was the guy?”
Dan said, “It came to me almost too late. It had been worrying me subconsciously ever since I had to—” here he flushed—“had to arrest Lady Alice. I knew that someone had, in conversation with me, said something that didn’t ring true. And when Wilmot was killed for having discovered the truth about Smith
