"Yes, sir. You know she isn't beautiful but she's not bad." "Too damn young to die. Tell the crew were back on SOP." "As she sails, sir," Cragin said, and wondered if the girl would die, at that. II In old-fashioned black letters, the legend on the thick metalo glass door said OFFICE OF THE ADMIRALTY, SPACE ARM. Cragin swung past it as though it had said Control Room and an officer of the day clad in an Earth Headquarters uniform told him that an Admiral Kirkholland would see him immediately. Kirkholland's name was on the next door, and under it in smaller letters the single word, "Intelligence." What the hell, Cragin mused, why argue. "At ease lieutenant. Sit down, cigarette?" Big, thought Cragin. Tough old bird, red faced, cropped white hair, chief pilot's rockets pinned to the plain front of his tunic. Cragin wondered how long he'd been flying the eight-foot plastaloy desk. He accepted the cigarette and sat. "More time we save the better, Cragin. Here it is. You were recalled because your records show you know your way around in Deep Space better than anybody in the whole Arm. HQ figured it'd be a better bet for this job to rely on what Intelligence training a regular Patrol officer gets than to try teaching a specialized Intelligence officer how to handle himself out where only yourself and Lin Griffin have ever flown and gotten back to tell about it. Except that so far, you're the only one who's told anything." "Not sure I follow that all, sir. I take it Miss Griffin--" "She's getting along all right. Ready to leave the station hospital in a day or two. Only she won't talk. Just mumbled something about an Ecliptic X when she finally started coming around, cried a little, and then shut up tight. Doctor says it's extreme shock. I don't think so. You can't do reams of mathematics that nobody else can make head or tail of when you're suffering shock. She not only won't talk, but after she finishes each sheet of calculations, she tosses it in the bedside incinerator tube. So I'm making guesses." Cragin let a little smoke dribble from his nostrils and tried reading Kirkholland's penetrating look. "The market, sir? There wasn't a gram of water crystal in her ship when--" "The report's been read phonic by phonic, Cragin. We've had the market pretty well under our thumbs up to now, and we can't go taking any chances. Setting up clay pigeons to lull us into a false sense of security is as old as the Martian ridges but it's worth thinking about if they've found a way to operate outside the Barrier." "What about the flight plan she and her father had to file, sir?" "In order, of course. Maybe just a clever part of the scheme. And who would suspect a man of Griffin's caliber and position?" "I see. She's a definite suspect, then, and--" "Can't say that. Officially. But because of the circumstances surrounding her return, she's certainly subject to observation." "My job."