myself far
out in space, away from the smoke and bustle of urban Earth. Z-40, save
for the menace you say now has possession of it, seems to be just what I
want. If I can clear it, it means the fulfillment of all my dreams. With
that in view, do you think I'd hesitate to risk my neck?"

"No," said the executive slowly, looking at the younger man's powerful
shoulders and square-set chin and resolute eyes. "I don't think you
would. Well, so be it. I'd greatly prefer not to sell you Z-40. But if
you want to sign an agreement that we're released of all blame or
responsibility in case of your death, you can buy it."

"I'll sign any agreement you please," snapped Harley. "Here is a down
payment of a hundred and seventy thousand dollars. My name is Harley;
sign 2Q14N20; unmarried--though I hope to change that soon, if I
live--occupation, mining engineer, ten-bar degree; age, thirty-four. Now
draw me up a deed for Z-40, and see that I'm given a stellar call number
on the switchboard of the Radivision Corporation. I'll drop around there
later and get a receiving unit. Good day." And, adjusting his gravity
regulator to lighten his weight to less than a pound, he catapulted out
the archway.

Behind him a prosaic business executive snatched a moment from a busy
day to indulge in a sentimental flight of fancy. He had read once of
curious old-time beings called knights, who had undertaken to fight and
slay fire-eating things called dragons for the sake of an almost
outmoded emotion referred to as love. It occurred to him that this
brusque man of action might be compared to just such a being. He was
undertaking to slay a dragon and win a castle for the daughter of
3W28W12--

The romantic thought was abruptly broken up by the numeral. It jarred
so, somehow, that modern use of numbers instead of names, when thinking
of sentimental passages of long ago. "The rose is fair; but in all the
world there is no rose as fair as thou, my princess 3W28W12...." No, it
wouldn't do.

Cursing himself for a soft-headed fool, he went to deliver a stinging
rebuke to somebody for not having blocked Z-40 off the asteroid chart
weeks before.

* * * * *

"Harley 2Q14N20," recited the control assistant at Landon Field.
"Destination, asteroid Z-40. Red Belt, arc 31.3470. Sights corrected,
flight period twelve minutes, forty-eight seconds past nine o'clock. All
set, sir?"

Harley nodded. He stepped inside the double she