"You saw tem. Tey are implanted in your subconscious memories and a hypnotreatment could extract tem. An illiterate like Dyann lacks te word-gestalts, she would not remember eben subconsciously, but you--Well, tat is luck. Maybe Eart can sabe you." "Oh, no!" Ray clutched his head. "They won't bother. They don't give a damn. I'm wanted back there, and old Vanbrugh will be only too pleased to see me get the works." "Banbrugh--te Nort American Councillor?" "Uh-huh." Ray leaned gloomily against the door. "I was just a plain ordinary engineer till Uncle Hosmer left me a million credits. Damn him, I hope he fries in hell." "A man left you money and you don't like it?" Urushkidan's eyes bugged so they seemed in some danger of falling out. "Shalmuannusar, what did you do wit it?" "I spent it. I spent damn near every millo in a year." "On _what_?" "Oh, wine, women, song--the usual." Urushkidan clapped his tentacles to his eyes and groaned. "A million credits!" "It got me into high society," went on Ray. "I made out as if I had more than I did. I met Catherine Vanbrugh--that's the Councillor's daughter--and she got ideas that I might make a good fifth husband, or would it be the sixth? Well, she wasn't a bad-looking wench, and I--uh--well--about the time my money gave out and I went into debt, she was really after me. It was somewhat urgent. I skipped, of course. Old Vanbrugh got the cops after me. I barely escaped. He's got enough influence to--well, it boils down to the fact that the Jovians can do anything to me their little hearts desire." He strained against the bars. "Can't you do anything, sir? Your fame is so illustrious. Can't you slip the word to somebody?" The Martian puffed out his chest above his eyes and simpered. Then he said with mild regret, "No, I cannot entangle myself in te empirical. My domain is te beauty and purity of matematics alone. I adbise you to accept your fate wit philosophy. Perhaps I can lend you Ekbannutil's _Treatise on te Unimportance of Temporal Sorrows_. It has many consoling toughts." He waved affably and waddled off. Ray sank to the bunk. Presently a squad of soldiers arrived to escort him to the tender which would take him down to Ganymede. Colonel Roshevsky-Feldkamp was there, as stiff as ever, though the bandage behind his ear set his cap somewhat askew. "Where am I going?" asked Ray. "To Camp Muellenhoff, outside the city," said the Jovian with a hard satisfaction. "It is where we keep spies until we get ready to question and shoot them." III It took Dyann Korlas about two Earth-days to decide that she didn't like Ganymede.