 17 John Willard set a brisk pace through the streets of First Haven, as befitted a conscientious public servant. Maria Ringstad kept up with him as best she could. When she lagged, the thin cord tightened around her wrist, and he grumbled over his shoulder at her. Naturally, she carried her bag. He had explained that they would have been most inconspicuous with her walking properly a yard behind him. Anyone would then have taken them for a man and wife, or a man and servant, had it not been for her tear and clothing. To walk the street with you in that rig would attract entirely too much attention, was his explanation. The only thing we can do is use the public symbol of restraint, so that everyone will know you are a prisoner. What good will that do? Won't they still stare? It is considered improper, as well as imprudent. No law-abiding citizen would wish to risk being suspected of a sympathetic curiosity about a transgressor. You make it sound dangerous, said Maria, holding out her hand obediently. Anything to be inconspicuous, she had thought. Now turning a corner about 300 yards from the jail, she had to admit that the system seemed to be working. The Greenies whom they met were nearly all interested in other things, a shop in the vicinity, another Greenie across the street, a paving stone over which they had just tripped, or the condition of the wall above Maria's head. Willard led her to the far side of a broader avenue after they had negotiated the corner that put them permanently out of sight of the jail. Maria tried to recall the scanty information he had whispered to her against the outside wall of the prison. There had been time for him to tell her he was sent by the Department of Interstellar Relations of Terra to get her out, since it had proved impossible to alter the attitude of the Greenie legal authorities. Maria was not quite sure whether he was really the prison officer he said he was, in which case he must have been bribed on a scale to make her own crime ridiculous, or whether he was an independent worker friendly to the Terran space line, in which case the payment might more charitably be regarded as a fee. She knew that he planned to deliver her to a spaceship due to leave shortly. There had been no opportunity for her to ask the destination. To tell the truth she reflected, I don't care what it is, anything would be a haven from Greenhaven. She began to amuse herself by planning the article she would write when back on Terra. How I escaped from Paradise might do it, or prison breaking in Paradise, or perhaps Greenhaven or Green Hell, whatever I call it, she promised herself. I'll skin them alive, and I'll find a way to send the judge and the warden copies of it too. Maybe, she pondered, it might even be better to stretch it out to a whole book, and get someone to do a series of unflattering cartoons of Greenie characters. The court joked at a wrist. She realized that she had fallen behind again, and made an apologetic face at Willard when he looked back. Don't do that, he hissed. They'll wonder why I tolerate disrespect. Sorry, said Maria, shrugging unrepentantly. You take this pretty seriously, don't you? You'd better take it seriously yourself, he growled. It's your neck as much as mine. He glared at a young Greenie who had glanced curiously from the opposite side of the avenue. The abashed citizen hastily averted his eyes. Willard gave the court a significant twitch and strode on. They turned another corner to the right this time and went along a narrow side street for about 200 yards, waiting for a moment when he might meet as few people as possible. Willard crossed to the other side. A little further on, he led the way into what could almost be termed an alley. Willard stopped. Now we are going into the small food shop, he informed Maria. You would call it a café or restaurant on Terra. It will seem normal enough for an officer to provide his charge with food for a journey, so that will be reasonable. Is the food any better than what I've been getting? Asked Maria. It doesn't matter. We won't stop there since it would be impolite to inflict the sight of you upon honest citizens at their meal. I shall recrust a private room and the keeper will lead us to the rear. Humph. Well, if that's the way it is, then that's the way it is. So with the eyes of an honest greenie, I'm something to spoil as appetite. What can I do about that? What you can do is keep that big flexible active mouth of yours shut, declared Willard. Otherwise I shall simply drop the end of the court and take off. You can find your own way out. I'm sorry, apologized Maria, a shade too meekly. I promise I'll be oh so good. Do you want me to kneel down and lick your boots? Or will it be enough if I open a vein in the soup? It will be enough if I get out of this without committing murder, mumbled Willard. Now the expression is fine. Just wipe that grin off your mind and we'll go in. He pulled her along the few yards to the entrance of the food shop. He opened the door and entered. Maria followed at their respectful distance. There were a half a dozen greenies eating plain wholesome meals at plain sturdy tables and exchanging a plain honest word now and then. The site of the court on Maria's wrist counterbalanced the site of her lascivious Terran costume and they kept their eyes on their food after one startled the clients. A greenie woman stood at a counter at one side of the food shop and Willard made known his desire for a private dining room. A man cooking something that might have been stew looked around from his labor at a massive but primitive stove to the rear of the counter. Maria thought he took an unusual interest in her compared to what she had been observing recently. It rather helped her morale and she thought she did not blame the man if the counterwoman were his wife. The latter now came from behind her little fortress and led the way to a door at the rear of the shop. Willard followed and Maria trailed along restraining an impulse to wink at the cook. She was conscious of his analytical stare until the door closed behind her. Willard seemed to have nothing to say to the greenie woman and Maria relented to the point of heeding his request to be silent. All this made for a solemn little procession. They walked along a short haul and the greenie woman opened another door to a flight of stairs. What surprised Maria was that the stairs led down. She shrugged. On Greenhaven they had their own peculiar ways. She was more puzzled when at the bottom of the steps they seemed to be in an ordinary cellar. The light was dim and she did not succeed in catching the look on Willard's face. She began to wonder if she might wind up buried under a basement floor while he spent his ill-gotten bribe. Then the greenie woman pulled aside a large crate and opened another door. To pass through this one they all had to stoop. Maria realized that they were then in the cellar of another building. The blocks of stone forming the walls looked damp and dirty. They proceeded to climb stairs again and to traverse another hall. Maria thought they ended up going in a direction away from the street. The woman led them through a small dark series of rooms and finally into one with windows set too high in the walls to see out. There she halted and faced Willard. The greenie prison official dropped the cord and reached into an inner pocket of his drab uniform. He withdrew a thick packet of Greenhaven currency. The numbers and units were too unfamiliar for Maria to guess the value from one quick glance. But the attitude of their hostess suggested that it was substantial. Willard handed it over. Maria decided it was time to set down her bag. The woman went immediately to a large chest in a corner of the room and opened it. She set aside a mirror she took out of the chest, then began to pull out other objects. There was a case which she handed to Willard and a great many articles of clothing that were probably considered feminine on this world. The point is, Willard said in low tones, you are going to have to have proper clothes to look natural on the street. See if that dress will fit you. Maria took the thing distastefully, but it looked to be about the right length when she held it up against her. The greenie woman nodded. She added a sort of fulling flannel slip and a petticoat to the dress. Now I know why the greenie woman looks so grim, said Maria. It would be almost worth dying to stay out of such a rig. Hold your tongue, said Willard. Maria made a face. Present company accepted, of course, she added. Change ordered Willard. We have no time to waste. He took the mirror in a small case to a rude table under one of the windows. He opened the box so that Maria caught a glimpse of the contents, which looked like an actor's makeup kit. The greenie woman joggled Maria's elbow and spoke for the first time. I must not be long or it will be noticed, she hinted. Give her your clothes to burn and get into the others, said Willard, bending over the table with his back to her. As soon as I get myself fixed here, I'll change your face too. Maria looked about in a manner to suggest that she hoped they knew what they were doing. The greenie woman waited. Maria reached up and began to unbutton her blouse. She dropped it across her bag. The woman picked both of them up and waited. She looked at trifle shocked at the sight of the thin slip when Maria unzipped her skirt and hauled it over her head. By the time the slip followed, she was standing with downcast eyes. Maria eyed the broad back and the drab uniform as she unfastened her rosary. This would make a good story someday, but to tell it in the wrong company might be to invite catty remarks about her attractiveness. She could think of other men who might not have kept their backs so rigidly turned as did Willard. It was almost provocative. She slipped down the brief panties, stepped out of them and handed them over. The greenie woman pointed silently to the shoes. Maria kicked them off and they were added to the pile. She hoped that whatever was in the chest for footwear would not be too hard to walk in. The greenie woman thrust the flannel atrocity at her and left the room hastily. Maria watched the door close softly, then held the garment out at arm's length. It did not look any better. She took a few steps toward Willard. I bet I could make him faint dead away, she thought mischievously. I'd love to see the look on his face if. Well, why not? I will. She's gone. She announced in a low voice. How do I get into this thing? Willard looked around and the look was nothing she had ever seen before. His face appeared fuller in the cheeks. His eyebrows were black and heavy. His nose high at the bridge and his whole complexion was darker. He nodded at her gasp. Those papers I turned in for you won't last too long. The estimate is that they will dissolve before tomorrow morning. But this might come apart sooner. If he sends out an alarm, I don't want to be on the streets in shape to be recognized. That's wonderful, said Maria enthusiastically. Are you going to make me up too? Yes, said Willard, get into those things so I can start. Maria watched his eyes flicker to her breasts and then sweep down the rest of her body. She thought he was taking it very well, unless it was the makeup. Will you help me with this thing? She begged. I never saw one before. She held out the flannel garment with a helpless smile, planting the other hand on her bare hip. Will you quit teasing you little bitch? Willard snapped. I'm no greenie if that's what you thought. You could get us involved to the point of missing the ship. Maria felt her eyes popping, a tingling hot flush later face. It spread back to her neck and crept down to her breasts. She snatched the flannel sack to her and turned her back. Somehow she maneuvered it over her head. Then she fumbled on the starched petticoat and topped the hole with a done colored dress that felt chastely about her ankles. Willard handed her a pair of low heeled shoes that were only a little loose when she put them on. He had her stand facing one of the windows while he darkened her face and put a black wig on her. She looked up at the window and stood very still. Now listen, said Willard, you'll absolutely have to stop blushing like that or the color of the skin is going to come all wrong. I can't help it, she said meekly. Then she saw he was laughing at her and gave him a rueful smile. Where did all that monesty come from? It was the shock, I suppose. All right, it was funny. When we get out on the street again, forget all about what's funny. Look like a serious greenie. Funny, objected Maria. I always thought I made a pretty fair showing in comparison to local gals. Oh, you did. You did. One of the best showings I've ever seen. He pressed a hand to each side of her waist, then slid them up her ribs until the weight of her breasts rest against his wrists. We'll talk about this again when we make it to the ship. He told her in a low voice. Right now it would be foolish to spoil this makeup. He turned away after a long moment and returned the kit to the chest. They left by the same door by which they had entered. But Willard knew a short way out to a different street. Maria thought it must be the one outside the high windows. He set off at a business like pace. They traveled about a quarter of a mile counting several turns by which he sacrificed directness for sparsely peopled streets. The disguises must have been effective for they drew no second glances. It was not until she saw the gibbet that Maria realized they were approaching the outskirts of the city. What? She began sensing the reality of her plight for the first time. Quiet. Look the other way if you must, but don't be obvious about it. Several examples of rigid Greenhaven justice were on exhibit to a modest crowd. Three men and two women sat in stocks. They were not apparently subject to rock throwing or other abuse, as Maria seemed to remember had been the custom on ancient terror. But they were clearly unhappy and mortified. From the gibbet behind them swung the body of a hanged man. It appeared to have been there for some time. Maria wondered what he had done to corrupt the morals or the economics of Greenhaven. What nearly made her sick was the sight of a party of two dozen children being guided on a tour of the place. One youngster whined and was thoroughly cuffed by the greenie in charge. Then they were passed and Maria saw the high cyclone fence of the Terran spaceport. Willard took a look at her face. Seemingly satisfied, he explained that they had come to a section well away from the main entrance. He had her along the fence for perhaps a hundred yards, found a small gate and unlocked it with a key produced from under his belt. Maria, remembering their exit from the jail, was not surprised to feel a good natured slap on the bottom as she stepped into Terran land. There was another quarter mile to go, but it was open land. We have made it now, said Willard locking the gate behind them. They bypassed the administration and custom buildings and headed directly for the field elevator beside the waiting spaceship, ignoring the possibility of causing inquiries to be made by local equalize who might think they had seen two greenies board the vessel. Willard of the Department of Interstellar Relations, he introduced himself to a surprise ships officer. You've been told to expect Miss Ringstad. The officer, staring in bald disbelief at Maria's costume, admitted that the ship was more or less being held for her arrival. One thing was unexpected, said Willard. I am exercising my authority to demand a cabin for myself as well. I have reason to suspect that my disguise has been penetrated, which, of course, makes it very dangerous for me. Of course, agreed the officer, let's go by all means. Yes, said Maria. I want to get out of this awful rig. That's what I meant, said Willard. There was no doubt that the influence behind Willard had held the ship for them. It rose as soon as they could reach a pair of tiny cabins. Later, after the first surge of the takeoff, there were a number of delays stretching between minor course corrections. Finally, it was announced over the public address system that because of precautionary checking of the course, there would be no spin to simulate planetary gravity for about two hours. Maria hoped that she would not be revealed as the cause to the disgruntled passengers. She was still considering this and trying to disentangle herself from the acceleration that slung in the ten-foot cubicle they were pleased to call a cabin when Willard arrived. I made friends with some of the crew, he announced. Everybody likes to help out a DIR agent. It must strike them as romantic. They should know, said Maria, thinking of the long suspenseful walk through Greenhaven streets. There was a stewardess who had extra slacks and blouse about your size. You must have a good eye, she told him. Or you think you have, anyhow. First, get me out of this thing. What with this greenie outfit, too, I might as well be in a straight jacket. He pushed himself over to the net and began to open the zipper. She saw that he had taken time to remove his greenie face. Her first motion, when the net was open, sent her tumbling head over heels to the far bulkhead. Keep a grip on something, laughed Willard. Here, I brought a small kit along. Let me fix your face. She obediently clung to the anchoring shock springs at one end of the net and turned her face up so that he could work on the mask he had earlier painted on. His fingers were gentle, smoothing in the cream he had brought and rubbing off the makeup with lightly perfumed tissues. Maria closed her eyes luxuriously and thought how pleasant it was to be off Greenhaven. Was it very complicated getting me out of there? She asked. There were a lot of angles to think of, he answered. But we pulled it off as thickly as I've ever seen done. Just strolled right through them all. Things in this business don't often go that well to plan. There, now you look human again, just like when I started to put that face on you. Not exactly, smiled Maria, plucking roofly at the native mother Hubbard, which billowed hideously about her in the zero gravity. That's easily changed, Willard said, meeting her smile significantly. See if you can find your way out any better than you did getting into it while I sort out the clothes I got for us. Between the reaction from the strain of the past few hours and a glow of gratitude toward her rescuer, Maria began to sense the stir of an emotion within her that took a few moments to recognize. It surprised her a little. Willard, she said lazily, it's funny, but I feel just as if I'm falling in love with you. That's interesting, grinned the agent, about time too. I can't tell if my knees are weak, she went on, laying a hand on his shoulder to draw herself closer. Because I'm hanging in midair, but you always seem to be making me strip. And I find myself not minding. I don't mind either, he assured her. When his arm slipped around her waist and he kissed her, Maria was sure. She let her lips part gradually, trembling as the fever rose in her. Let me go a minute, she murmured. Presently, after a few weightless contortions, the muffling greenhaven flannels were since swirling into a corner. Maria laughed softly as she set a bare foot against the bulkhead to launch herself back into Willard's arms. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18 of D99 by H.B. Fife. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 18. Was it the pain in his head that made everything seem to sway? Or was it the swaying that made his head hurt? Taranto opened his eyes slowly. For two or three minutes, in the darkness, he did not understand what he saw. Gradually, comprehension developed. He was on a litter again, and the bearers were descending a rough track into a shallow valley. There was no sign of the city, or of any other landmark even vaguely familiar. Jagged rocks formed a ridge to his left, curving around to enclose the depression. Other rocky buttes he saw through slitted eyes, projected from the barren rubble of the valley floor. There seemed to be little sand unless it had blown down into the lower areas. Cautiously, letting his head roll with the lurching motion of the bearers, he learned that another group was ahead. He thought they must be guarding Myers. The red uniformed officer marched just proceeding to Taranto's litter. That meant that there must be two soldiers behind, out of his view. What now, he asked himself. It was a good try, but it didn't work out. It seemed hopeless to attempt anything further until he found out where he was. Nor would it do any harm to learn how he was. They must have crowned him beautifully. He tried to move his arms and legs slightly without being obviously restless. Nothing felt broken. There was just the sore throbbing behind his left ear. Were they taking him and Myers further into the desert to make sure they could properly be reported dead? Or was the party on its way back to the city? Taranto moved about stealthily, as the litter heaved from side to side and bounced about with the efforts of his bearers to negotiate outcroppings of rock. He was surprised that his arms and legs were not tied. He wondered how long he had been out-cold. Perhaps the Sasokans believed he really was dead from that spear across the skull. You shouldn't have underestimated that guy just because you dropped him a few times, he told himself. You caught onto the difference, but he learned it from you. From ahead and lower on the path came voices. There was a brisk breeze, but Taranto thought he could recognize Myers giving vent to an outraged wine. Wonder how much of a grudge they'll hold, he thought. Some of them must be lumped up pretty good. He was beginning to locate a number of scrapes and bruises on his own sturdy frame. He wondered if it might be best to take things easy until they reached out of their desert destination or the area outside the city. According to which way they were headed and then offered to bribe the officer in charge, it would probably be too risky. He would have to rely on large promises and they had already caught him in a crude whopper. Whatever the case, it would be unwise to open negotiations without finding out what the Sasokan commander looked like. Taranto seemed to recall pasting the fellow pretty thoroughly. He caught a few words of Terran, blown back to him by a random gust. Myers was complaining about being too tired to walk any further. It did not sound as though he were making his point. Of course Taranto realized. I must be in his stretcher. Mine was busted. Now the slob will put it on me for making him bump his rump along this trail. The image was not without humor. Contemplating it gave Taranto a momentary satisfaction. Well, they knew Myers was alive, even if they might not be sure about Taranto himself. Perhaps they were merely saving both Terrans for a longer jail term. Taranto hoped that the Sasokans had nothing more unpleasant in mind. The remarks he had used earlier in his attempt to bluff the officer could be used for inimical purposes by anyone who cared to point out that Sasokan knowledge of Terran physiology was scanty. Then what? Taranto decided that he would be foolish to worry along that line at the present. What he needed was an idea for getting loose again. He speculated for a few minutes upon his chances of backtracking to the scene of his attempt at escape, somewhere near there in whichever direction it was. A spaceship would be landing. If they had been and gone already, he thought. In his supine position on the stretcher, he was able to see the sky without moving. That was why the distant trail of light was visible to him for some moments before any of the Sasokans could notice it. I can't wait it out after all, he realized. The ship would be heard presently, and the flare of its breaking rockets would arouse the guards. Taranto peeked around again and saw that they were nearing the foot of the slope. Following the natural motion of the bearers, he let himself roll a little too far each time the litter swayed. The Sasokans struggled to compensate while scrabbling for safe footholds on the hard slippery surface. In the end, one of them slipped. The litter crashed down. Taranto added a twist to the natural force of gravity so that he rolled downhill. The fallen bearer picked himself up, mumbling something in Sasokan that sounded remarkably belligerent. One of the others moved to recover the stretcher. Taranto kept on rolling. At the first yell, he gave up the pretense and regained his feet with a live bound. For the next 60 seconds, he needed every last smidgen of concentration to escape taking a fatal spill on the sloping rocks. Hurdling downward in great leaps, he was forced to hurdle large rocks because his velocity prevented him from changing course by even a foot. Once he skidded, thinking his time had come. Near the bottom where the incline curved to meet the horizontal, he did go down, plowing up a spatter of loose chips and pebbles. He was up and running again without quite knowing how. A dark shape loomed up before him, a rock twice his height. Before passing it, he took the chance of looking back. The litter party was in a state of confusion. The officer and two soldiers were bounding after him, slanting away on a more reasonable path. Once Sasokan was still in the process of picking himself up, and most of the others were either milling about or just beginning to heed their leader's shouts to follow Taranto. The intention of yelling to Myers flashed across his mind, but he dismissed it as being useless. A hasty glance in the opposite direction showed him the fire trail setting behind another ridge to his front. The valley bore a certain resemblance to a meteor crater. Taranto sprinted past the huge rock and bore right toward the distant ridge. He would try to locate the ship if and when he reached the ridge. The immediate necessity was to keep out of the clutches of the burial party. Running in the starlit darkness was risky, as he soon found. The ground was strewn with occasional patches of loose stone, traps of nature suitable for tripping the unwary or causing a sprain. The only thing that kept Taranto reckless was the sounds of pursuit behind him. He had gone about 200 yards when he realized that some of the rock-scattering noises came from his right more than from behind. The Sasoken were better runners than he and used to the local terrain besides. He could not tell whether they had seen the trail of the spaceship or if so, whether they connected it with him. But they knew enough to head me off whichever way I go, he thought. He came unexpectedly to a patch of sand and swore as he felt his speed slacken. A desperate glance over his shoulder revealed no pursuers, though he knew they were there somewhere. He could see two runners who had flanked him on the right 50 yards off, and these forced him into bearing away from his desired course. Instead of passing to the right of a tall outcropping of rock ahead, he turned left. It took him farther from the direction of the spaceship, but there was no help for it. He floundered over a low dune of sand and then was out of it and running on flat ground. He circled to the left of the hill, hearing a howl from the rear. Must have seen me against the open valley, thought Taranto. They sound closer than I like. He ran on, scanning the shadowed rocks towering over him for a place to climb. It was a foregone conclusion that the two flankers would be on the lookout for him as he came around the hill. At last he thought he saw a way up, a sloping ledge leading to a small plateau before the rock reared higher in a sheer cliff. Up he went on hands and toes. The rock was ridged, but in the wrong direction, and he slipped to hands and knees twice before he was up. He slowed to a quick walk as he reached the level expanse. It was 10 or 12 feet above the valley floor and curved off to the right around the base of the cliff. Taranto was panting by now, but his main reason for slowing was that he wanted to make less noise until he spotted the two sysokans he expected to meet. The broad ledge he was following dipped rose a few feet and dipped again to less than 10 feet above the level ground. Taranto flattened himself suddenly. The two sysokans came loping along the shadowy edge of the outcropping, spears at the ready. From around the cliff sounded a call. The first soldier threw back his head to answer, as the howl left his throat and masked the noise of the Taran scrambling. Taranto launched himself upon the back of the second. They went down with a thump upon hard rocks. Taranto saving his ribs from being caved in by fending himself off from a jagged rock with his forearm kicked out and caught the down sysokan in the belly. As the soldier subsided, the Taran snatched up the spear and rose to face the other one. It had all gone so fast that the leader was just turning back. Perhaps he thought merely that his companion had fallen, but the stocky silhouette of the spacer disabused him of that idea. He advanced, with the point of his spear weaving about menacingly. You think you're good with that stick, eh? growled Taranto. We'll try this for something different. Gripping his spear near the head, he swung the heavier butt like a bat, putting as much power into it as he could. It was crude, but he knew better than to try to match skills with the soldier trained to the use of the weapon. The butt cracked resoundingly against the shaft of the sysokan spear, tearing it from the grip of his leading hand. Taranto's own hands were numb by the shock. He dropped his spear and slid inside the sysokan's one-headed grip before it could be reinforced. The faint of a left hook to the belly made the soldier relinquish his weapon completely and grapple with the spacer. Taranto found his left arm entwined with the right of the sysokan. He tried twice to punch to the body with his free hand, but was smothered. Before he could think of it himself, the sysokan stamped hard upon his toes. BASTARD! spat the spacer. He butted successfully, but profitlessly. He rabbit punched twice with his right hand, reaching around under the soldier's armpit, only when he gouged at a large black eye did the defending arm come up. Taranto set his feet and banged three times to the midsection, getting plenty of body twist into his motion. He found himself holding a very limp sysokan who slid down as the spacer stepped back. Taranto sucked in a gasping breath. He staggered aside to pick up the spears, feeling better now that he was armed, no matter how primitively. He had hardly straightened up when he saw the officer around the edge of the little butte, a mere fifty feet away. The sysokan hesitated at the side of the Terran standing over two of his soldiers, and Taranto threw one of the spears. The trouble was that he did not know how to handle one. A spear, after all, was not standard equipment on a spaceship. The point twisted away from the target, and much of the force went into a slow spin. The officer hissed a disdainful comment and caught the weapon out of the air with one hand. Taranto stooped for a rock, which he hurled with more effect. It shattered with a fine crack against the cliff, near enough to the sysokan to make him throw himself behind a boulder for cover. Taranto left him in the middle of a yell to his soldiers and sprinted off into the open valley. Carrying the spear did not help matters much, but he thought the sysokans might regard it as a more dangerous deterrent than he knew it to be in his untrained hands. The next time he looked around, he saw that he could rejoice in a splendid lead of two hundred yards. On the other hand, the officer now had a numerous group with him, and would probably get organized at last. Taranto slowed to a jog to save himself against the time when they should begin to catch up. Taranto said a small voice. He broke automatically into a dead run without even looking around. Wait! Taranto called the little voice. Look up! For the spy eye, the spacer slowed as understanding burst upon him. He looked back and saw a spark of light gaining on him. It arrived and hovered over his head. It may still work, the voice informed him. The ship is down. I told them what happened, and they're putting up a helicopter. Where's Myers? I don't know, said Taranto. Back on the ridge, I guess. Look, I can't just stand here until that copter comes. I'll be a pen cushion. Head for that hill ahead, about a quarter mile, said the voice from the little flyer. I'll guide them there. The sysokans were running now, spreading out in a well-drilled manner. Taranto boosted himself into high speed again. The hill ahead was more toward the center of the valley. If the pursuers were aware of some connection between his flight and the position of the spaceship, they would be satisfied to have him heading away from the ridge and closing the valley. Taranto hoped that they would not worry enough to turn on a burst of speed, for he was convinced that they could outrun him. He was right. He reached the steep slopes of the hill with a bare fifty yards left of his lead, and he was on the point of foundering at that. His knees buckled for an instant as he hit the first rise, and he saved himself from pitching on his face only by thrusting out the butt of the spear he carried. Somehow he made it another fifty feet at the slope, hearing the voice beside his ear say, To the right, Taranto, head for that flat spot, here comes the helicopter. He wiped salty sweat from his eyes with the back of one hand and looked up. A large, quietly whirring shape shadowed the stars. It dropped rapidly toward him as a howl broke out behind him. Taranto took the spear in both hands, holding it at one end, and sent it whirling in over end at the closing Sasokans. The whole center of the group dropped flat to let it swish over their heads. Before they could rise, the helicopter reached Taranto. It came down so fast it bounced against the ground. Someone held out a hand to Taranto and yelled to him to jump. He was hauled into an open cockpit. Someone took a death grip on the waistband of his pants and he felt the helicopter climb. He wiggled around until he could get his knees under him. There were two spacers in the cockpit of what was obviously an auxiliary craft from a spaceship. One of them, a very long ear type with a narrow head, looked as if he had been born in some stellar colony. The other had a broad bland face of an oriental Terran. Where is the other one? asked the latter. Taranto crept between the seats to which they were strapped before answering. For there were only chains at the open sides. He got his bearings and directed the long-eared pilot to the ridge where he had rolled out of the litter. It nearly broke his heart to see them reach it in less than a minute. There may be guards with him, he warned. Maybe he took off too. We shall see, said the broad-faced spacer. He ran a spotlight along the ridge, stopped and brought it back to bear upon a lonely figure. Myers stood up and waved. No sysokin was in sight. The officer must have taken them all with him. He knew what he was doing, thought Taranto. The guy is still here. The helicopter eased down to hover over a large rock. Myers climbed laboriously upon it and was hauled aboard. Taranto squeezed himself back behind the seats to make room. It's about time you got here, puffed Myers. I'm worn out. Taranto said nothing as the craft rose in the air and swooped off toward the spaceship. Someday Myers would ask how he had gotten away from the sysokins. When it happened, Taranto swore to himself, he would show the slob. End of Chapter 18. Chapter 19 of D99 by H.B. Fife. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 19. It was 20 after 8 when Westerville found himself back in the communications room with Smith. Rose and Kranz had alerted them to a message coming in from sysoka. They didn't expect to hit us during office hours. He explained, but as long as you're here, I thought maybe you'd like to get it fresh. Smith had told the girls to pass the word to Leidman and Parish and Westerville had followed him down the hall with the feeling that he had displayed his eye under the good lighting long enough. Now they listened as a slim brown haired man with the faintly scholarly aura completed his report on the escape of Lewis Taranto and Harley Myers spacers. Joe Rose and Kranz was fiddling with an auxiliary screen and murmuring into another microphone. So it was a rather close call, even though the formula you sent us appears to have worked perfectly, said the Scholar Leidman. I have not been able to determine exactly what caused the delay on the part of the sysokans, since it seemed imprudent to display my little flying spy eye where it might be seen or even damaged. Maybe you can pick up some rumors in the future, suggested Smith. If you do, we'd appreciate hearing them. To add to our file and make the case as complete as possible. The transmission lag was much less than that occurring with Trident. The DIR man on sysoka agreed to forward any subsequent discoveries. Those spacers you contacted are already heading out system, he told Smith. I think they did a nice clean job. It was too bad that they were seen at all, of course. But it will be news to me if the sysokans drop around with any embarrassing questions. Well, there is a large foreign quarter there, Smith recalled. Why should they suspect Terrans after all? Oh, they will. They will. They suspect everyone. But they must know so little that I feel sure I can bluff them. I can prove that I was here at the official residence all day. Good, said Smith. Just in passing, I take it that no one was much hurt. The man on sysokan grinned briefly. No one on our side, he said. Although I understand the prisoners were suffering some from exhaustion and dehydration. This Lewis Taranto seems to be quite a lad. There was reason to believe that he killed two or three of his guards with his bare hands. At least I saw the burial party carrying bodies with him as they marched the rest of the way back to the city. Smith laughed. I'll have to add a note opposite his name and contact him. I could use a field agent like that. Well, my operator tells me I have another call coming in. Thanks for your work on this. A pleasure, said the man on sysoka. I really didn't expect to contact you directly. My relative time atlas must be a little old. No, it's just that we never sleep, you know, clipped Smith and signed off. He looked around, saw that it was Parrish who had entered and added, at least it looks as if we'll never sleep. I'm getting tired of it myself. So was everybody except Joe here, said Parrish. A calm man isn't normal anyway. You got to learn not to let all this stuff coming through bother you, said Rosencrantz wisely. If I soaked up all these crazy calls, I'd have nightmares every day. As it is, I'm as normal as anybody when I leave here. You haven't been with us long enough, said Smith. What else do you have there? There was a routine memo to make a check with the planet Greenhaven, said Rosencrantz. I cleared it when a good time came. The DIR station there pretended not to know what I was talking about. What? Yelped Smith. Don't tell me we goofed on another one. I don't think so, said Rosencrantz. While you were talking to Susoka, a spaceship named Vulpecula called, said there was reason to believe the Greenhaven DIR was locally monitored. Tapped or the scrambler system broke in, said Parrish. What does this ship want to talk about? The Ringstead case. Joe, god damn it, who says you're normal? Demanded Smith. I bet we sprung another one. Two in one night. We're coming out with a good average after all. Get them on the screen before I pop my tanks. Westerville listened to the transmission from the spaceship. Without the help of a planetary relay at the far end, it tended to be a trifle weak and wavery. But the essentials came through. He left Smith and Parrish patting each other on the back and went back to tell the girls about it. They clustered around him in the main office, even Pauline leaving her cubicle for a moment and keeping one ear pointed at the switchboard inside. You should have heard Smitty calling her out of writing us up for the news magazines, said Westerville. She seems to be pretty famous in her line. What was she like? asked Simonetta. She looked blondish, but the color wasn't coming across too well. Not bad looking, in a breezy sort of way. The agent that sprung her had had to skip, too, because he thought the green havens, they called them greenies, had spotted his disguise. Oh boy, breath Pauline. The cops must be hot on their trail. Either that or he wanted to go along with her for other reasons, said Westerville. They seemed kind of chummy. Can they do that? asked Barrel. I mean without orders and all that? Westerville grinned. I don't know, he admitted, but he's doing it. He can't go back now. Anyway, Smitty simmered down fast and promised to draft for expenses would be waiting for him when the ship made Planetfall. Technically the DIR ought to pay, because it turns out the guy is on their rolls and was only working with us temporarily. Simonetta nodded wisely. You watch our boss, she predicted. He allowed this man on our lists. He always gets free with money when he sees a good prospect from the main branch. Even if they stay in the honest side of the outfit, they cooperate with the back room here. Smith walked in with Parrish beaming. His eyes found Westerville. Willie, he said, make a note and tomorrow look up the planet Roch and two. I had to send credits and I didn't want to stay into wide, wide space that I didn't know where it is. Bad for the department's prestige. He looked about genially. I see you've told the news, he commented. It was a lift for me too. We haven't done too badly after all. One, two, lost one. Damn, and one is still a stalemate. Anyone tell Bob? asked Parrish quietly. They all exchanged searching glances. Smith began to lose some of his ebullience. After a moment, he turned to Pauline. Buzz his office, he said in a preoccupied tone. Westerville tried to subdue a mild chill along the backbone as Pauline gave Smith a wide-eyed look and slipped into her cubby hole. He couldn't have phoned downstairs, he assured himself. Pauline would say all the lines were busy or caught off or something. But what if you looked out a window? Smith had sunned it over to a center desk where he waited beside the phone. It seemed to be taking Pauline a long time. Check with Joe, advised Parrish. Then try around the other rooms. Ten to one, he's in the lab. Has anyone seen him in the last half hour? asked Smith. Westerville pointed out that he had been in the chief's company in the communications room. The girls had not seen Leidemann, but admitted that he might have gone past in the corridor without their having noticed. Yeah, he doesn't make much noise, Parrish agreed. Smith had a thought. He moved toward his own office, paused to jerk his head significantly toward Parrish's, and opened his own door. Parrish went over past Barrell's desk and thrust his head into his own office. Leidemann was not in either room. Mr. Smith called Pauline in a worried tone. I'm sorry, but I can't seem to reach him. Oh, Christ, said Parrish. He isn't talking again. He did something Westerville had never seen that self-possessed man resort to before this evening. He began to non-nervously upon a knuckle. He saw the youth staring and snatched his hand from his mouth. Smith glowered unhappily at the floor. Westerville thought he could hear his own pulse, so quiet had the office grown. The chief backed up to the unpleasant decision. We'd better spread out and wander around until someone sees him face to face, he said. If he wants to be let alone, let him alone. Just pass the word on where he is. Westerville volunteered to go down one wing while Parrish took the other. As they left, caution to take their time and act natural, Smith was telling the girls to open the doors to the adjacent offices again. And keep their ears tuned in case Lightman should come looking for him or Parrish. Westerville turned right past the stairs and went to the door of the library. It will be perfectly natural, he told himself. We made out on two cases. I just want to tell him about it, in case he hasn't heard. Why the hell don't they get that cable fixed? They want their bills paid on time, don't they? He could hear the newscast now about how tough a job the electricians faced and how tense was the situation. Westerville decided he would not listen. He opened the door to the library casually and sauntered in. The pose was wasted, Lightman was not there. Westerville went on to the conference room on this side and found it empty as well. He looked in on Joe Rosencrantz, who from the door appeared to be alone. Just to leave no stone unturned, he retreated at the hall to the door marked shaft and poked his head inside. He had to grope around for a light switch and when he found it was rewarded with nothing more than the sight of a number of conduits running from floor to unfinished ceiling. A little dust drifted down on him, from atop the ones that bent to run to outlets on the same floor. Well, nobody can say I overlooked anything, grumbled Westerville. He went back to the communications room. Rosencrantz was listening in on some conversation from a station on Luna that was none of his business. Any sign of Lightman around here? asked Westerville. Not since the Yolene brawl grunted Rosencrantz. That's a good-looking babe run in that Luna station. Why can't we dig up some messages for them? I'll work on it, promised Westerville half-heartedly. He walked quietly around the corner past the power equipment. No Lightman. The next step was the laboratory. He looked at his watch, then leaned against the wire mesh partition for a good ten minutes. Let Parish cover the ground, he decided. In the end, with no sign of Parish or Lightman, he opened the door and stepped into the dark laboratory. He made his way cautiously ahead, thinking that Lightman was probably in his office. Feeling his path with slow steps and carefully avoiding the possibility of tipping over any of the stacks of cartons, he had progressed to the center of the large chamber when the lights went on. Westerville felt as if he had jumped a foot and the blood pounded through his veins. Gasping around with open mouth, he finally met the eye of Pete Parish, who stood half inside the doorway to the corridor, his hand still raised to the light switch. They both relaxed. Parish smiled feebly, with less than normal display of his fine teeth. Westerville contended himself with passing a hand across his forehead. It came away damp. Well, said Parish, where was he? Westerville closed his eyes and groaned. You're kidding, he said. Please say you're kidding. It's too late in the day to fool around, Pete. Parish looked alarmed. He strode forward, letting the door close behind him. Westerville, finding himself shivering in a draft, went to meet him. I'm not kidding at all, said Parish. Did you look everywhere? Are you sure? I even poked into the power shaft, retorted Westerville. Were you in his office? Naturally, I checked everything, even the men's room. They had wandered back to the corridor door, peering about the laboratory to make sure no one could have concealed himself on the floor under a workbench or behind a pile of cartons. Parish opened the door, and they stood puzzling at the empty hall. He wasn't even taking a shower, said the elder man. Westerville brooded for a moment. Did you say everywhere? He insisted. Well, everywhere he would have any call to go. They stood there, passing the buck silently back and forth between them. At length, Parish said, I'll just look again in his office in the other two rooms, in case he was, and slipped out behind me. Westerville watched him run lightly up the hall to each of the doors. Parish's expression, as he returned slowly, was something to behold. I'll go, said Westerville grouchily. Parish put a hand on his arm. No, that wouldn't look natural. All phones smitted to send one of the girls down. Better phone him to send two, suggested Westerville. Yeah, agreed Parish. That's even more natural. Watch the hall while I buzz them. He went into Leibniz's office. Westerville leaned in the laboratory doorway, feeling depressed. After some delay, he sighted Simonetta and Beryl turn in the far corner with their pocketbooks in hand. Neither one looked particularly pleased, but their expressions lightened a bit at the sight of him. You there Pete, murmured Westerville. Right at the door, whispered Parish from inside Leibniz's office. The girls clicked in muffled unison along the hall. Beryl paused at the entrance to the ladies room. She raised her eyebrows uncertainly at Simonetta. The dark girl threw Westerville to puzzle the shrug, then pushed past Beryl and went inside. The blonde followed, almost on her heels. Westerville waited. When he thought he could no longer stand it, Parish hissed. How long are they in there, Willie? I don't know, said the youth. But maybe we'd better... The door opened. Simonetta and Beryl walked out, staring quizzically at the two men, who had taken a few steps toward them. What is this gag, asked Simonetta. There's no one in there. Who would be in there? Parish swore luredly, and none of them seemed to notice. It can't be, he exclaimed. You're sure? Of course we're sure, said Beryl. What if the power came on and we didn't notice? Mused Parish. You know it better than I do, commented Beryl. I'm beginning to wonder from what you told us on the phone if he jumped out of a window somewhere. I know it's a terrible thing to bring up. Westerville stopped listening to her. He was remembering the draft he had felt. Twice now. In the laboratory. End of Chapter 19. Chapter 20 of D-99 by H.B. Fife. This Liberex recording is in the public domain. Chapter 20. Westerville watched them walk up the hall. He thought of going back into the laboratory to find the open window. In his mind, he could see the straight 25-story drop down the side of the dark tower to the roof of the larger part of the building. He recalled having looked down once or twice. The people down there had paved patios outside their offices, a hurtling bodywood. He shook the thought out of his head and hurried to catch up to Parish and the two girls. They trooped into the main office and took turns in telling Smith the story. He flatly refused to believe it for about five minutes. Ultimately convinced, he told Pauline to check Rosencrantz by phone every 10 minutes. If we're wrong, he said, it's unfair to have him sitting down there all alone. Bob might somehow have outsmarted us, but if he did it to this extent, it means he isn't safe on the loose. Westerville noticed that Simonetta was looking pale. He wondered about his own features. The eye would probably stand out very picturesquely. I don't believe it, he said, when the others had fallen silent. They looked at him, hoping to be convinced. He isn't that kind, said Westerville. All right, you tell me he had a hard time in space and it left him a little off, but this doesn't sound the direction he would go off in. What do you mean, Willie? asked Smith intently. Well, maybe he'd run wild. Maybe he'd get desperate and blow something up. I could see him taking a torch to that door and burning anybody that tried to stop him. He paused as they hung on his words. But I can't see him quitting, said Westerville. If he was that kind, he never would have gotten back to Tara, would he? Smith snapped his fingers and looked around. Sure, sure, he said. I don't know what I was thinking up in my imagination. We've all heard Bob utter a threat now and then, when some bims out in deep space broke his own private law, but no one ever heard him even hint at suicide. He grand roofily and added, I should have thought of it myself. I had to review his application and examinations when he came to us. Some days, said Parrish, are just too much. Nobody's fault. Then in that case, said Westerville, there was one little thing I noticed. He told him about the open window. Who would keep a window open with the building air conditioning operating as perfectly as it did? Smith fell to running his hands through his hair again. Now let's think, he muttered. There must be some logical explanation. Logical explanations, Westerville thought, are always the reasons other people think of. He found a space to sit on the edge of the empty desk. Simon had to lean beside him, and Barrel wandered over to the window of the switchboard cubicle to listen as Pauline checked Rosencrantz. She shook her head to Smith's inquiring look. Then Leidman strolled through the double doors. What's the conference about? He asked. Barrel let out a shriek. Her back had been to the corridor when she jumped, but she came down facing the other way. Everyone stiffened. Leidman stood quietly, regarded them with considerable calm. After a moment, Barrel tottered back to lean against the glass of Pauline's window. She pressed one hand to her solar plexus, looking as if she might fold up at any breath. Oh, she gasped. Oh, Mr. Leidman. He examined her with clinical detachment. Doesn't someone have a tranquilizer for her? He asked. I don't usually scare pretty girls. Oh, no, no, no. It's just that, I mean, everyone was worried about you, stammered Barrel. Why? asked Leidman. Don't you think I can take care of myself? For the first time, Westerville noticed the curiously said expression on the ex-spacer's face. He had, until then, been too busy watching Barrel and trying to calm his own nerves. He could not be certain, but it seemed as if Leidman's forehead displayed a faint sheen of perspiration. Of course you can, Bob, said Smith. We were—Barrel, nearly to the point of hysteria and her relief, got the ball away from him. We were worried about the elevator being stopped, she babbled, and the door. You'll never believe it, Mr. Leidman, but the door to the emergency stairs wouldn't open. Westerville thought he heard Parrish swear, then realized it had been his own voice. He started to step in front of Simonetta. Parrish was moving slowly in Leidman's direction, trying to look at ease but looking tense instead. Damn it, shouted Smith. Barrel, you're fired. It did not seem to register on anybody, Barrel least of all. Leidman was confounding them all by standing quietly. His face tightened a little more at the news, but it did not seem to be the expression of a man who had just taken a bad jolt. I know, he said. I looked at it a couple of times after I saw the blackout downstairs. Smith regarded him wearily. How do you feel, Bob? he asked. You know how I feel, said Leidman. He let his gaze wander from one to another of them. Westerville felt a chill as the handsome eyes looked through him in turn, but accepted the comforting realization that the stare was about as usual. Barrel was the picture of a girl afraid to breathe out loud, but the others relaxed cautiously. Smith even planted one hip on the corner of Simonetta's desk and tried to look casual. You seem to be doing pretty well, he said. We were thinking of looking the lab for something to cut the latch with, but it might have been waste motion. They should be getting the power on any minute now. I think, Leidman began. Oh, I guess we could find something in the lists, pursued Smith. If you'd rather we look. I have several things we could use, said Leidman. He walked into the office proper and looked about for a chair. Westerville stepped back of the center desk and brought on the chair of the vacationing secretary. Leidman sat down beside the partition, screening the active files opposite Simonetta's desk. In fact, continued the X-spacer. I got them out when I was trying to figure out how much that door would stand. Then I decided that would only raise a commotion. Westerville watched him with growing interest. Now that he had the man at closer range, he was sure that it was a tremendous effort of will that kept Leidman so relatively calm. The man seemed to be seething underneath his tautly controlled exterior. What did you think of doing? asked Smith carefully. Oh, I dug out a better gadget. One that would do me more good anyhow, said Leidman. It's a little rocket gun attached to a canister of fine wire ladder. Wire ladder? repeated Smith. Yeah, about six inches wide at the most. I opened a window and shouted up to the flight deck. Say, did you know some hijackers stole all three of our copters? Stole all three of Smith's voice dwindled away. When no one else broke the silence, he forced himself to resume. Yes, I knew. What I would deeply appreciate, Robert, is your telling me how the hell you knew? He finished yelling. Westerville thought he looked at least as bad as Leidman. Anyone 20 feet away would have completely misjudged him. Just as I said, answered Leidman with his tight calm. I shot this ladder to the roof and climbed up. You climbed up outside the building? Of course, outside, said Leidman for the first time showing a trace of snappishness. I couldn't stand it inside. He looked around at them again, surprised that there was the slightest hesitation to accept his statement. We'll have to redesign that ladder, though, he said. It's a might too fine. It cuts the hell out of your hands. He yelled at his palms. Across each were several welts. One, on his right hand, had apparently resumed bleeding, stickily, since Leidman had come in. He fumbled out of handkerchief with his other hand and blotted it. Smith held his hands to his head. I can't swallow it yet, he groaned. So you feel uneasy in here? So you go out a window, 99 floors in the air? Only 24 above the setback, really. Leidman corrected him. It's enough, isn't it? So you go out, climb up to the helicopter roof, and then climb down again and back through the window? And you pretend to feel better? I would have had a heart attack. Who wouldn't? said Westerville. The mere conception of what it must have been like made him feel sick. As long as I know it's there, muttered Leidman, as long as I know it's there, I can use that way anytime. Just don't anybody pull that little ladder down. Would the meek little syllable came from Beryl, who would now manage to stand without the support of the partition. Every head in the room swiveled to bear upon her. She gulped and found part of her voice. Would there be an old martini lying around in the locker? She asked. I'm afraid to go for it myself, because my knees feel as if they'll collapse at the first step. There was a general outburst of laughter that revealed the enormity of their relief. Parish hurried over to put an arm around the blonde, and Smith himself went to the locker and opened it. With a break in tension, Beryl managed to walk pretty well, perhaps with a little more swagger of the hips than usual, Westerville thought. Smith found a drink for her, and insisted that Leidman have tea. The chief pulled the tab himself and held the cup for the few seconds required to heat the beverage. Most of them, like Westerville, had had too many coffees or sandwiches, and were content to sit down and regain their composure. Westerville was mildly surprised to see Parish take a position behind Leidman, and need the big man's neck muscles to relax him. Did they tell you the news yet? asked Smith. We got two out, Sasoka and Greenhaven. No, said Leidman, managing a smile. Tell me, but if I'd get up and leave in the middle, I'd rather you didn't stop me. Nobody's stopping anybody tonight, said Smith, and fell to giving his assistant an account of Taranto and Myers. Westerville got up quietly and patted into the switchboard cubby hole. Lin me her headset, Pauline, he murmured, and punched Joe's number. Sure, said the little blonde. She left the screen off and kissed him behind the ear, just as Rosencrantz answered. Nothing personal, Willie, she yiggled. I just feel so relieved. Who is it now? demanded Rosencrantz's voice. You let the lens off, did you know that? It's Willie, Joe. He came back and he's sitting down having tea. Back? Where was he? Westerville told him. Then he told him again and switched off. Joe, he thought, would have to live with it for a while. When he stepped out of the cubicle, everyone was watching Smith narrate with broad gestures, the flummoxing of the state authorities of Greenhaven. The chief was not above calling upon parish for an estimate of the charms of Maria Ringstad that caused an outcry among the girls. Leidman smiled politely, but not from the heart. He was still quietly reserved. Everyone was watching Smith. No one paid any attention to the red-haired man who drifted into the office area, just as Westerville squirmed past Pauline and stepped out of the switchboard room. The youth blinked at the topcoat over the man's arm. He focused upon the wavy hair and reached for the man's shoulder to turn him around. Charlie Colburn, he yelled. Smith got it first. Well now, he said, standing up. If it's getting so everybody and his brothers start parading through that door at this time of night, I'm leaving. Where's my hat, Psy? Leidman had caught on almost as quickly and was on his feet before the general whoop went up. I just want to phone my wife, said Colburn. It's so late, I might as well stay here the rest of the night. What's keeping all of you? They clared at him. The power has been on for 15 minutes, he told him. I would have been up sooner, but that nut of a building manager insisted I'm running test trips with all the elevators before he'd let anyone come up. Leidman had started for the elevator and shirt sleeves as he was and carrying a cup of tea in one hand and a bloody handkerchief. There was no doubt that he meant to go home that way. Bob, roared Smith. All of you, listen. Leidman stopped but did not turn around. In the first place, Charlie, said Smith, you are not going to call your wife from here unless you faithfully give the impression that you are all alone. If you slip, I'll swear to her. I saw you picked up by two red heads and a helicopter and you had all the office petty cash with you. But tell her the traffic was too much. Don't tell her we couldn't get to the street. That goes for everybody else too. But why, Colburn got out. Why? You want the DIR boys throwing this up to us every time I try to get money out of them for the bare necessities of our operation? We can get people out of the dungeons on planets not even on the Galatlas, but can't even escape from our own little hideaway? It never happened, Parish agreed quickly. Damn right, said Smith. Okay, Bob, push the button. Go with him, Willie. You girls, nobody in before noon tomorrow. We have an extra TV operator to take care of things. Look, guy. Colburn started to say as he stepped out of Westervelt's way. Aw, thanks for phoning in the first place, Grint Smith, punching him lightly on the shoulder. Wait for me downstairs, Willie. We'll see what we can do about Harris tomorrow. Appoint him an ambassador, muttered Westervelt, coming up behind Leidman as the elevator door slid smoothly open. What an outfit, he thought to himself. I'm going to apply for field duty. End of Chapter 20. End of D-99 by H.B. Fife.