"No! You wait!" Pfaff thrust his bullet-head forward, close to the officer's face. "This is a matter of principle, mister. We'll settle it right now. I'm Security rep on this ship, and I say this Clark Dane pickup's a Security matter. Are you going to contradict me?" "If need be." The lieutenant's cheeks flamed. "It so happens, Mr. Pfaff, that you've pushed your luck a little too far. Security rep or not, you're overstepping your authority, and I'm not about to stand for it. If need be, I'll take it clear to the captain." "Well! So it's out in the open at last!" Pig-eyes glittering, thick lips twisted in an ugly grin, Pfaff moved in even closer. "You've got a good idea there, too--that business of taking all this to the captain. We'll do it. And then, after that, we'll carry it another step, to a friend of mine. You may have heard of him. His name's Thorburg Jessup." "Thorburg Jessup--!" The lieutenant's nostrils flared. His eyes distended. Then, of a sudden, the angry color was draining from his face. Uncertainly, he fell back a step. "Now wait a minute, Pfaff--" * * * * * It was as if the other hadn't even heard him. "Did you think you were going to get away with it, lieutenant? Did you really?" The Security rep exploded in a roar of contemptuous, scorn-ringing laughter. "Let me tell you something, mister. The blocked-promotion stations are full of brass-braided jackasses who thought they could lock horns with Security reps. Because the minute an officer talks back or pokes his nose into Security business, the rep calls Jessup--and that's the end of the trouble _and_ the officer." For a long, taut moment, then, the silence echoed; a leaden silence, heavy with tension. "Well, lieutenant?" Pfaff cocked his head. "Which is it going to be? Do you shut up--or do I call Thorburg Jessup?" The spaceship officer seemed to stop breathing. Then, abruptly, he pivoted and, wordless, stalked from the room. Not speaking, Pfaff turned his cold, unblinking stare upon the second officer. The man's gaze faltered; fell. He followed his fellow from the chamber. Now Pfaff swung round to face Dane, lumpy features aglow with unholy triumph. Slowly, contemplatively, he scrubbed a meaty palm back and forth through the coarse black hair that matted the opposite forearm. It made a whispering, scratching sort of sound that rasped Dane's nerves worse than all the earlier verbal pyrotechnics. Uneasily, he shifted; swallowed. Because strive as he might, he still couldn't remember. Not anything. The realization brought with it a feeling more frightening than anything he'd ever known. It was as if the world--his private world--had vanished, leaving him cast adrift in space blindfolded, without landmarks or triangulation points, all orientation lost.