ved from a passage-paid
starship once he has formally checked in on board. I was legally, at
this moment, on my "planet of destination."

"I haven't been charged--"

"Did I say you had?" snapped one man.

"Shut up, he's doped," the other said hurriedly. "Look," he continued,
pronouncing every word loudly and distinctly, "get up now, and come with
us. The co-ordinator will hold up blastoff if we don't get off in three
minutes, and Operations will scream. Come on, please."

Then I was stumbling along the lighted, empty corridor, swaying between
the two men, foggily realizing the crew must think me a fugitive caught
trying to leave the planet.

The locks dilated. A uniformed spaceman watched us, fussily regarding a
chronometer. He fretted. "The dispatcher's office--"

"We're doing the best we can," the Spaceforce man said. "Can you walk,
Cargill?"

I could, though my feet were a little shaky on the ladders. The violet
moonlight had deepened to mauve, and gusty winds spun tendrils of grit
across my face. The Spaceforce men shepherded me, one on either side, to
the gateway.

"What the hell is all this? Is something wrong with my pass?"

The guard shook his head. "How would I know? Magnusson put out the
order, take it up with him."

"Believe me," I muttered, "I will."

They looked at each other. "Hell," said one, "he's not under arrest, we
don't have to haul him around like a convict. Can you walk all right
now, Cargill? You know where the Secret Service office is, don't you?
Floor 38. The Chief wants you, and make it fast."

I knew it made no sense to ask questions, they obviously knew no more
than I did. I asked anyhow.

"Are they holding the ship for me? I'm supposed to be leaving on it."

"Not that one," the guard answered, jerking his head toward the
spaceport. I looked back just in time to see the dust-dimmed ship leap
upward, briefly whitened in the field searchlights, and vanish into the
surging clouds above.

My head was clearing fast, and anger speeded up the process. The HQ
building was empty in the chill silence of just before dawn. I had to
rout out a dozing elevator operator, and as the lift swooped upward my
anger rose with it. I wasn't working for Magnusson any more. What right
had he, or anybody, to grab me off an outbound starship like a criminal?
By the time I barged into his office, I was spoiling for a fight.

The Secret Service office was full of grayish-pink morning and yellow
light