ught of the glimpse he'd
gotten of the thing in the pilot's window. Then his thoughts drifted
back to the newsrooms of Galactic Press Service; to Carter in his plush
office.

"Want to be a hero, son?"

"Who, me? Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day."

"Don't be cute. It's an assignment. Get into White Sands."

"Who tried last?"

"Jim Whiting."

"Where is Whiting now?"

"Frankly we don't know. But--"

"And the four guys who tried before Whiting?"

"We don't know. But we'd like to find out."

"Try real hard. Maybe you will."

"Cut it out. You're a newspaperman aren't you?"

"God help me, yes. But there's no way."

"There's a way. There's always a way. Like Whiting and the others. Your
pals."

Back at the port looking through the hot wire. _Sure there was a way.
Ask questions out loud. Then sit back and let them throw a noose around
you. And there was a place where you could do the sitting in complete
comfort. Where Whiting had done it--but only to vanish off the face of
the earth. Damn Carter to all hell!_

Gene turned and walked up the sandy road toward the place where the
gaudy neons of the Blue Moon told hard working men where they could
spend their money. The Blue Moon. It was quite a place.

Outside, beneath the big crescent sign, Gene stopped to watch the crowds
eddying in and out. Then he went in, to watch them cluster around the
slot machines and bend in eager rows over the view slots of the peep
shows.

He moved into the bar, dropped on one of the low stools. He ordered a
beer and let his eyes drift around.

A man sat down beside him. He was husky, tough looking. "Ain't you the
guy who's been asking questions about the crews down at the Port?"

Gene felt it coming. He looked the man over. His heavy face was flushed
with good living, eyes peculiarly direct of stare as if he was trying to
keep them from roving suspiciously by force of will. He was well
dressed, and his heavy hands twinkled with several rather large
diamonds. The man went on: "I can give you the information you want--for
a price, of course." He nodded toward an exit. "Too public in here,
though."

Gene grinned without mirth as he thought, _move over Whiting--here I
come_, and followed the man toward the door.

Outside the man waited, and Gene moved up close.

"You see, it's this way...."

Something exploded against Gene's skull. Even as fiery darkness closed
down he knew he'd found _the way_. But only a stupi