Barnard, piloting his own ship, _Good Company_!"

There was a tremendous roar from the crowd. In front of the official
stand, Tom, Roger, and Astro pounded Sid Goldberg on the back until he
begged for mercy. On the stand, Strong and Kit shook hands and grinned
at each other. And Commander Walters stepped up to congratulate the
three winners. Walters handed each of them a personal message of good
wishes from the Solar Council, and then, over the public-address system,
made a short speech to the pilots of the losing ships thanking them for
their co-operation and good sportsmanship. He paused, and in a voice
hushed with emotion, offered a short prayer in memory of Gigi Duarte.
The entire spaceport was quiet for two minutes without prompting,
voluntarily paying homage to the brave spaceman.

After Walters left and the ceremonies were over, the three winners stood
looking at each other, sizing up one another. Each of them knew that the
winner of this race probably would go down in the history of deep space.
There was fame and fortune to be won now. Quent Miles ignored Sticoon
and swaggered over to Kit Barnard.

"You were lucky, Barnard," he sneered. "Too bad it won't last for the
race."

"We'll see, Quent," said Kit coolly.

Sticoon said nothing, just watched them quietly. Quent Miles laughed and
walked off the stand. Kit Barnard looked at Sticoon. "What's the matter
with him?" he asked.

The Martian shrugged. "Got a hot rocket in his craw," he said quietly.