ers were pierced too. I had
mine specially armored, with a heavy helmet and body plating... The
particles just got my gloves and my legs. Cripes, I got pictures--right
from the rim of the Rings! And lots of data..."

Ramos showed the shadow of a reckless grin of triumph. Then he passed
out.

Later, Nelsen saw the photographs, and the refrigerated box with the
clear, plastic sides. Inside it was what looked like dirty, granular
snow--frozen water. Which was all it was. Unless the fact that it was
also the substance of Saturn's Rings made a difference.

Saturn--another of the great, cold, largely gaseous planets, where it
would perhaps always be utterly futile for a man to try to land...
Ramos, the little Mex who chased the girls. Ramos, the hero, the
historical figure, now...

Cursing under his breath, Nelsen wandered vaguely to _The Second Stop_.
There, he saw what probably every spaceman had dreamed of. Lucette of
Paris swimming nude in a gigantic dewdrop--possible where gravity was
almost nil. Music played. Beams of colored light swung majestically,
with prismatic effects through the great, flattened, shimmering ovoid of
water, while Lucette's motions completed a beautiful legend...

Two figures moved past Nelsen in the darkened interior. The first one
was tall and lean. Then he saw the profile of a lean face with a bent
nose, heard a mockingly apologetic "Oh-oh..." and didn't quite realize
that this was Tiflin, the harbinger of misfortune, before it was too
late to collar him. Nelsen followed as soon as he could push his way
from the packed house. But pursuit was hopeless in the crowded causeway
outside.

A few minutes later, he was in Eileen Sands' apartment. It was not his
first visit. Eileen seldom danced or sang, anymore, herself. She was
different, now. She wore an evening dress--soft blue, tasteful. Here,
she was the cool, poised owner, the lady.

"Tiflin hasn't been around here for a long time, Frank," she was saying.
"You know that his buddy entertained for me for a while. I have an
interested nature, but Tiflin never gave me anything but wisecracks.
There are lots of Tovies around--there's even a center for runaways. I
don't ask questions of customers usually. And technically, all I can
require of a comic is talent. This Igor had a certain kind. What is the
difficulty now?"

Frank Nelsen looked at Eileen almost wearily for a second. "Just that
Tiflin is somehow involved with most of the bad luck th