ps it was just for this
he'd let Jason plug along on a cold trail all these years.

So that night, wearily from his bench in Gov-Park, Jason looked up at
Friday the 13th's full moon swimming amiably through its own reflected
night-brightness. His brain, tired of its everlasting shuttle between
worries, presented him with a disconnected memory-fact: "As cited by
Zollner," Jason found himself quoting a forgotten textbook, "the Moon's
reflectivity is point one seven four ... Nuts!" Angrily, he broke off,
thumbed the button of his communico, growled into the microphone on his
lapel, "Report."

"Adams," came promptly back. "West Entry. Nothing."

"McGillis. Patrolling rear wall. All clear in both directions as far as
I can see. An' I can see both ends of the Fane in all this moonlight,
Chief."

"Holland. At Raichi House. Nothing."

"Johnson. East Entry. More of the same." Then, "Say, Jase, how about it?
These double shifts are getting me."

"What's the matter with you, now?"

"My feet hurt, Jase. Neither one of us is as young as we used to be,
remember. How about knocking off?"

"Hmphf ..." Johnson, Jason thought, was getting old. He'd been a good
man in his day but-- Hey, he was still a good man! It was Jason's own
stubbornness that was wearing Johnson down. Jason's useless
stubbornness. After all, without the backing of Anx or Gov, without
results from the equipment he had filched to use on Lonnie, what was the
use of everlastingly sticking around the Tiara like a fly buzzing
molasso-saccharine anyway? Jason opened his mouth to send them all home,
pressed the communico button and--shelved the relieving order
temporarily. Instead, he blasted into the microphone: "Sergeant!
SERGEANT!"

From the communico, an intermittent drone became a gasping gulp; changed
into a violent yawn and only then turned into startled speech. "Yeah?
Huh?... Yeah, Chief!"

"Sergeant, if I ever catch you asleep again, you won't ever get your
pension."

"Chief, I wasn't asleep! Honest! I--"

"All right. What's happening up there?"

"Nothin' ... nothin' ... I wasn't asleep, Chief. I'd'a called you 'f
anything--"

* * * * *

Something bright, or was it dull, plucked at the edge of Jason's vision.
Inside the Fane, far down at one end. A thin, vertical bar of difference
in the blaze of light. Chin half turned, Jason stared. What?...

"_Chief!_ That tracer's asleep--I mean--that there tracer's just GONE