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"Er—may I ask a question, sir?" asked Tom.

The major smiled. "Go right ahead, Corbett."

"It's about this whole setup," explained Tom. "I was expecting fences and prisoners and—well, most anything but green grass and small white buildings!"

"The little huts you saw," replied the major, "are as much of a prison as we have. Each hut holds one prisoner. He has all the necessary furniture, in addition to audioceivers and story spools which he can change once a week. He also has basic garden equipment. All prisoners grow everything they eat. Each man is dependent on himself and is restricted to the hut and the area around it. If he comes within two miles of the tower, the guards will pick him up on radar and order him back. If he comes within one mile, they fire without further warning. Only one man has ever escaped. Coxine. And that was because we had a sick man on guard duty, or he never would have made it. He overpowered the guard, took his uniform, and stowed away on a supply ship. We caught him a year later."

"Didn't your radar pick up the disk he was wearing, sir?" asked Roger.

"That method of protection was only installed a few months ago," said the major.

"And the prisoners just sit there—in those little huts?" asked Astro.

"Yes, Astro!" said the major with a tone of finality in his voice. "They just sit. This is the end of the line."

The three cadets looked at each other and secretly vowed never to take a chance of doing anything that would send them to the Rock.

Five minutes later, Strong was driving a jet car along a narrow paved road toward one of the white huts. Astro sat beside him grimly silent, his hands balled into tight hamlike fists. They rounded a curve and Strong pulled up in front of the house. As they climbed out of the car, they could see the trim neat lanes of the little garden with carefully printed signs on each row indicating what was growing. They started for the house and then stopped short. Bull Coxine stood in the doorway, watching them.

Dressed in the snow-white coverall of the prison garb, Coxine faced them squarely, his thick trunklike legs spread wide apart. He was a giant of a man with long heavily muscled arms that dangled from a huge pair of shoulders. His jet-black hair was a tangled unkempt mass, and his face was scarred and lined. Eyes blazing with unconcealed hatred he waited for Captain Strong to make the first move.

"Hello, Bull," said Strong quietly. "I'd like to talk to you."

"Oh, you would, huh?" Coxine spat and his lips twisted in a mocking grin. "What's the matter? Afraid to talk to me alone?" he indicated Astro. "Did you have to bring one of your Space Cadets for protection?"

"Listen, Bull," urged Strong, "I was your friend once. I turned you in because you were a mutineer and I was an officer of the Solar Guard. I'd do the same to this cadet if he tried what you did."

"Yeah, I'll bet you would," snarled the criminal. "Just like a real friend!" His voice deepened into a low roar. "Don't talk to me about the old days! I'm on the Rock and you're just another Solar Guard space crawler to me. Now get out of here and leave me alone."

"I came to ask you to help me, Bull," Strong persisted. "I need information."

Coxine's eyes narrowed into slits. "What kind of information?"

"You once tried to hold up a Credit Exchange on Ganymede with a man called Gus Wallace. He had a hide-out in the asteroid belt. I'd like to know where it is," said Strong.

"Why?"

"I can't answer that, Bull."

"What do I get if I tell you?"

"Nothing, except my thanks and the thanks of the Solar Guard."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll turn around and leave."

"Then start turning, Strong," snarled the giant prisoner, "because I ain't got nothing to tell you except how much I hate your guts!"

Astro moved forward slightly, but Strong held him back. "O.K., Bull. If that's the way you want it, I'll leave."

"Why don't you let the young punk try something?" challenged Coxine. "I ain't had any exercise in a long time."

Strong looked at the huge man and