The Shooting Starr came out of hyperspace with a jolt that sent its two-man crew flying against their restraints.

"Mars!" swore John Bigman Jones. "I'll never get used to that."

"If it's any comfort to you, neither will I," chuckled Lucky Starr, unfastening the restraints. "But do you really have to mention it every single time we Jump, Bigman?"

"For the foreseeable future." Bigman shrugged and followed Lucky to the visiplate. "Where'd we land?"

"I don't know yet, you crazy Martian. Take it easy." Lucky grinned and dodged Bigman's indignant punch.

"Crazy!" Bigman scoffed. "I don't think I'm the crazy one. It wasn't my idea to put a hyperatomic drive on the Shooter. That was all you."

Lucky chuckled under his breath. "I didn't hear you fight it."

"Well, no, not exactly..." Bigman squinted at the visiplate, stretching himself to his full five-foot-two height. "Wait, is that a station?"

"Well, I'd know if you would let me see... About the only part of you that lives up to your name is your head."

Bigman ignored the jibe. "Say, Lucky!" he exclaimed, jumping up in excitement. "It is a station!"

Lucky raised an eyebrow, pushing the shorter man out of the way as gently as he could. "Hmm, I think you're right."

"I told you," Bigman said smugly.

"Oh, stop." Lucky went over to the panel, then let out a long, low whistle. "Galaxy."

"What? What is it?" Bigman ran over, frantic. "Good or bad news?"

"Which do you want first?"

"Good news. Definitely good news."

"All right. Well..." Lucky took a deep breath. "The good news is, we're still in the System."

"That's the only good news?" Bigman asked incredulously.

"Don't lose your boots over it." A frown indented itself upon Lucky's smooth, well-balanced, and as-of-yet unlined face. "The bad news is that we're on the outer edge of the System. We don't know if that station is a friend or foe, and they've probably already spotted us."

"So what are they waiting for?" Bigman tapped the holster on his boot subconsciously. "Radio contact?"

Lucky nodded.

"Well, what are you waiting for, you big lug? Why don't you-?"

The taller man held up a hand. "Sh. I'm doing it now." He reached for the radio control. "Councilman David Starr, captain of the Shooting Starr, on this end. Please identify yourself and acknowledge signal."

"This is the United States Space Station Endeavour IV," came the reply. "Signal acknowledged."

Bigman and Lucky Starr exchanged wide-eyed glances, frozen.

"Lucky," said Bigman slowly, "did we just hear him correctly? I don't believe we did. Because he just said Endeavour IV, and-"

"I'm not certain-"

"Shooting Starr, this is Endeavour IV. Have you lost contact?"

Lucky's hands were shaking noticeably as he held down the radio button. His voice threatened to do the same. "Endeavour IV, this is the Shooting Starr. Requesting permission to tether airlocks and board."

There was silence for a considerable interval on the receiving end. And then: "Permission granted."

The airlocks connected without much of a hitch, beginning to equalize pressure on both sides.

"Lucky," Bigman whispered, and his voice was quivering. "How in space is this even possible?"

"I'm not sure, Bigman... But if there's one thing I do know, it's that we're going to find out."

###

Michael Donovan attacked his mop of red hair viciously with the palm of his hand and scowled when it jumped back into a state of shock. "Listen here, Greg. I've got a month's wages and a double-decker lettuce-and-tomato sandwich on the fact that they're pirates."

"You would bet food." Gregory Powell cracked a smile. "But they're not, Mike. All that coffee's getting the best of you." He paused. "And you ought to know better than to wager with me."

"Fifteen cents," Donovan muttered, knowing the other's betting limit. "Of course." He followed Powell out into the airlock, but not without grabbing a blaster first.

"But really, Greg, how do you know that they can be trusted? I've never heard of that Shooting Starr, and I'm damned if I can sort out how they got a hyperatomic motor on that thing. Not enough mass."

"I guess we'll find out, hey?"

"Yeah? Well I tell you what, Greg. They say it's all worked out now, but you couldn't pay me enough to Jump again."

"Me too."

They both shuddered involuntarily, cringing at the memories the word "jump" brought back for them both.

"Well, come on, you redhead," Powell said suddenly, clapping Donovan on the back. "Let's go meet the neighbors."

In response, Donovan scowled and loaded the blaster.