A few hours before the time of rendezvous with the cruiser which was bringing Chris out to him, the detectors picked up a vessel whose course, it proved, was set to intersect their own. A minute or so later a sharp, clear thought came through Kinnison’s Lens.
“Kim? Raoul. Been flitting around out Arisia way, and they called me in and asked me to bring you a package. Said you’d be expecting it. QX?”
“Hi, Spacehound! QX.” Kinnison had very decidedly not been expecting it—he had thought that he would have to do the best he could without it—but he realized instantly, with a thrill of gladness, what it was. “Inert? Or can’t you stay?”
“Free. Got to make a rendezvous. Can’t take time to inert—that is, if you’ll inert the thing in your cocoon. Don’t want it to hole out on you, though.”
“Can d
