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and col lective psychologist to gather information is through ob servation and survey."
    "You don't even know if they'll be able to read the damn things. Did you get your precious forms translated into Old English or Japanese or Russian? Well, did you?"
    "There is no need of that. I'm sure your good friend Ian will be able to translate for us."
    The loathing she put into the word Ian was almost frightening in its intensity. The faculty battles between Ian Lacklin and Ellen Redding were near legend. Richard pitied poor Ian when he came aboard.
    "Dr. Redding, I'm sure the Chancellor doesn't give a good damn about these so-called Lost Colonies. Personally, I think this whole charade is nothing more than a hairbrained move on the Chancellor's part to get rid of his most embarrassing tenured faculty."
    "Now, Croce, you—"
    "Dr. Croce, to you."
    Boiling with anger, Ellen stumbled for a response, and Richard pushed on.
    "If—and I say, if—we find these colonies, I think Ian will have more to do with his time than to translate your half-witted sociological surveys to a bunch of people who most likely won't want to be surveyed in the first place. Therefore, my dear doctor, I think it only logical that your damn bloody forms should be heaved out right now."
    "If anything is to be heaved, it should be those ten cases of alleged surgical and sterilization equipment." A smug smile lit up her pudgy face, and she laughed mali ciously. "Besides, Doctor, a half hour ago I managed to put one of those cases through the airlock."
    "You bitch! Do you know how hard it was to get that gin up here! " His voice trailed off into incoherent screams. One-tenth of his liquor, gone! Three years for this damned mission, and only nine cases to see him through! Richard barely heard Leminski shout over the intercom about a ship's docking alongside as he launched himself through the air toward Ellen.
    The hatch behind them opened. A green face peered through. "Oh, my God." Ian groaned.
    "Ah, Ian, old friend," Richard shouted, as he drifted within striking distance of Ellen, "you're just in time to witness the effect of zero gravity on blubber."
    "Why, you pickled sot—"
    "Enough! I've had enough!" A wiry form in blue cov eralls pushed through the doorway behind Ian.
    "Ah, Ian," Richard said with sudden cheer, " meet our pilot and guide through the universe, Stasz Leminski ."
    Ian extended his hand, but Stasz ignored him.
    "I have my orders," Stasz whispered in a sharp, hissing voice. His five-and-a-half-foot, hundred-pound frame seemed to be a coiled bundle of energy ready to explode in violent rage at any second.
    "The problem is simple. We need to dump one hundred and twenty kilos. You must decide which one hundred and twenty kilos within twenty-three hours. Antimatter ignition sequencing will start in twenty-six hours. If by three hours before departure you have not dumped the excess mass, I will do it for you."
    Grabbing hold of a handrail, he turned himself about as if getting set to leave.
    "Ah, Leminski , I don't think you quite understand," Ellen Redding said. She spoke with the pedantic style typical of a professor addressing an idiot or a first-year university student.
    "I understand perfectly, Miss Redding." He smiled a tight wolfish grin as she stiffened to the form of address. "You see, Miss Redding, I am the craft pilot and engineer, therefore I am responsible for the function of this wreck which the Confederation has pawned off on you... well, never mind that. As I was saying, when it comes to the function of this vessel, I am in control."
    Pushing off, he floated back down the corridor.
    Ellen turned on Ian, who quailed at the sight of his old nemesis. But before she could speak, Stasz's voice drifted back to them. "By the way, Dr. Redding, I'm declaring that Croce's 'surgical supplies' are now part of my ship's maintenance stores, therefore they are not to be touched. Dr. Lacklin , I'd suggest that those damned forms get dumped right now.