Afraid of overbalancing in the bulky suit Dane did not lean forward to stare up into the shaft.  But, as his uncertainty reached a fever pitch, the platform descended and he took two steps forward into temporary safety, still clutching the cage.  At the first try the thick fingers of his gloved hand slipped from the lever and he hit it again, harder than he intended, so that he found himself being wafted upward with a speed which did not agree with a stomach, even one long accustomed to space flight.  And he almost lost his balance when it came to a stop many floors above.

But he had not lost his wits.  Before he stepped from the platform he set the dial on a point which would lift the riser to the top of the shaft and hold it there.  That might trap the Traders on the broadcasting floor, but it would also insure them time before the forces of the law could reach them.

Dane located the rest of his party in the circular core chamber of the broadcasting section.  He recognized a backdrop he had seen thousands of times behind the announcer who introduced the news-casts.  In one corner Rip, his suit off, was working over the still relaxed form of the Medic.  While Ali, a grim set to his mouth, was standing with a man who wore the insignia of a Com-tech.

“All set?” Rip looked up from his futile ministrations.

Dane put down the cage and began the business of unhooking his own protective covering.  “They were burning through the outer doors of the entrance hall when I took off.”

“You’re not going to get away with this—­” that was the Com-tech.

Ali smiled wearily, a stretch of lips in which there was little or no mirth.  “Listen, my friend.  Since I started to ride rockets I’ve been told I wasn’t going to get away with this or that.  Why not be more original?  Use what is between those outsize ears of yours.  We fought our way in here—­we landed at Terraport against orders—­we’re Patrol Posted.  Do you think that one man, one lone man, is going to keep us now from doing what we came to do?  And don’t look around for any reinforcements.  We sprayed both those rooms.  You can run the emergency hook-up singlehanded and you’re going to.  We’re Free Traders—­Ha,” the man had lost some of his assurance as he stared from one drawn young face to another, “I see you begin to realize what that means.  Out on the Rim we play rough, and we play for keeps.  I know half a hundred ways to set you screaming in three minutes and at least ten of them will not even leave a mark on your skin!  Now do we get Service—­or don’t we?”

“You’ll go to the Chamber for this—!” snarled the tech.

“All right.  But first we broadcast.  Then maybe someday a ship that’s run into bad luck’ll have a straighter deal than we’ve had.  You get on your post.  And we’ll have the play back on—­remember that.  If you don’t give us a clear channel we’ll know it.  How about it, Rip—­how’s Hovan?”