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easily imagined. But with the tube of jam he’d brought along the biscuits were edible, and he was lifted in spirit by the thought of the good news he would carry to his father. A strike the first time out! You couldn’t do any better than that.
    He finished his meal, folded the claim data he’d listed on an official blank, and put it in his wallet where it would be safe until filing time.
    Then, almost as though it had waited until he was quite ready, a scream came over the emergency band still open on his radio.
    â€œHelp! Help! Please—somebody!”
    It was a completely “unprofessional” call for assistance by a hysterical female who had reacted in quick terror to some menace—an appalling menace, obviously.
    Pete’s responses came automatically. “Keep on yelling,” he advised, and channeled the screams into his finder. There was a pause with no further screams coming over the wave.
    â€œAre you all right?” Pete asked. “Who are you? State your name and keep repeating it. Give my finder something to work on.”
    Then the screams came again. “Help! Help! Help!” repeated three times.
    This was enough. The finder clicked through its electronic pattern, located the voice, and the beeper began sounding. Ready to move, Pete lifted the car and circled. He checked the beep at two points and found that it led back along the stream and at a thirty-degree tilt from the ecliptic. This pointed him toward what the miners called the Badlands, an area of the Belt where the asteroid pack was thick and jagged—a place generally avoided because it had never yielded much in the way of valuable ore.
    The Badlands was a dangerous area to head into recklessly, and Pete would have preferred to stay out of it altogether. But, faced by an emergency, he raced toward the area and began taking risks, any one of which could have smashed his car like the shell of an egg.
    Plunging into the dangerous section of the Belt, he noted that the target of the beam was not stationary. That meant the girl was moving; probably fleeing whatever danger menaced her. He wondered if any other cars or ships had gotten the signal.
    Then the cry came again. “Help! Please help me!”
    â€œI’m on the way,” Pete muttered, and dodged a jagged asteroid just ahead.

CHAPTER FIVE
    GHOST SHIP
    The beep, steady and persistent in its electronic perfection, led Pete clear through the dangerous rock stream into comparatively open space beyond. Seemingly annoyed at the imperfection of humans and their strange antics, the beep angled him several degrees to the left of his previous line of travel and delivered him to a position from which he caught sight of another monocar.
    It was in trouble, its course carelessly erratic. Several times as Pete approached, it turned end-over-end, lazily, as though no one was at the controls.
    The screams had stopped while Pete was still in the rock stream, but he’d been so busy avoiding death that he would have ignored them regardless. But now he called out, “Ahoy! Monocar! I’m overhead! What’s your problem?”
    The voice that came back was no longer in panic. It was now charged with irritation and hostility. “Well, it took you long enough to get here!”
    Pete’s mouth dropped open. “Well, for… Look! I came as fast as I could. I had to come through the Badlands. Who are you? What happened?”
    Who was she! As though Pete didn’t know! He hadn’t been too sure when he’d picked up the call, but there was no doubt now. He’d again been brought into the orbit of the spitfire from the Snapdragon. Jane Barry was in his hair again.
    â€œWell, don’t just sit there,” she snapped. “Come and help me. I’m losing my air.”
    â€œI’ll pull alongside and grapple on,” Pete said. “Use your belt if you have to.”
    â€œWhat do you think I’m using