The Wabbit rose and hopped rapidly from the bridge. "I won’t
mess with the red spiders from Mars," he said, shaking his head. Outside, Marshall Duetta Spyder and her cohorts
began to weigh heavily on the structure and the Pilot’s craft shook violently. Interior lights dimmed as more and more spiders
clung to the fuselage. The Wabbit
looked back alarmed. "They’ll asset-strip your asteroid until there’s hardly a spare
quark left," he hissed. "So I’m off while I still have fur. Stay if you
like." "Stop!" shouted the Pilot. The Wabbit hesitated and stared steadily. "About
that trade?" grimaced the Pilot. "We'll see, but it's difficult now," muttered the
Wabbit. "You really shouldn’t have waited." "Don’t leave me to these spiders," said the
Pilot, "I hate spiders." The Wabbit
considered, then appeared to come to a decision. "Just give me time to get back to my craft and we’ll fix you in our tractor beam." "Then?" asked the Pilot. "Slipstream drive to the Planet Ogle -you'll be there in a trice." "Where’s Ogle?" said the
Pilot. "Ogle-TR-56b," said the Wabbit. "John Kepler of Kepler, Copernicus and Brahe
will meet you." The Pilot gazed at the
spiders and shifted uncomfortably. "How will I know this Kepler?" "Have no fear," said the Wabbit, "he’ll keep an eye open for you."