tell him ... Zeller,
give Hanlon the list of things needed for the mine-guard job, and pay
him a hundred credits, charged to the 'accident fund'. Tell him to be
here, all packed to go, at thirteen o'clock." He started to turn the set
off, then, as he heard Hanlon ask "Anything else now?" faced the screen
again.

"Not unless you want to make rounds with the boys again. It will be some
time before you can have any night-life."

Hanlon made a sign of distaste and shook his head. "Unh-uh, thanks. Two
big-heads in a row will last me for plenty time. I'll go get some
shut-eye."

The leader smiled companionably. "The rest might be best, for you'll
have a rather rough trip. You'll ride a freighter, not a luxury liner."

"Do I ask where I'm going?"

"Does it matter?"

Hanlon shrugged. "Not especially. Just curiosity."

"Then it won't particularly bother you if we ... uh ... keep your
destination a secret for a while?"

"Not in the least, if you want it that way," he yawned indifferently.
But his mind was so anxious he had trouble not letting it show in his
face or eyes. How was he to get that location? He thought swiftly, and
conceived a possibility.

"Your bar here serve Cola?"

"What is that?"

"A soft drink very popular on Terra and many other planets. I'd like to
take a case with me, if it's allowed."

"I see no reason against it. I never heard of it, but you might ask the
bargirls."

"I can get it at the Golden Web if you don't have it here. I had some
there the other night."

He watched carefully but there was no sign of suspicion; the leader did
not even seem interested.

Hanlon blanked the screen, got the list and money from Zeller, and
walked out. The Bacchus did not stock Cola, so he took a ground-cab to
the Golden Web.

Pretending half-drunkenness, he walked in and ordered the case of drink
from his colleague. While drinking a glass of it, he talked in more or
less garrulous tones. In between unimportant words he informed the SS
man bartender that he was leaving the next noon for another planet whose
name and location he hadn't yet been able to learn.

"Got a good boss, though," he mumbled thickly. "Very good boss--sure he
knows a lot. Headquarters at the Bacchus."

Hooper, quick of understanding as all SS men have to be, merely said
aloud the conventional "Safe Flights," but Hanlon knew he would do
everything he could to get that planetary information.

And Hanlon was well content as he we