For the thousandth time he cursed the gray cloud that overhung his memory. He didn't know, even, who among the crew might know him and spread the alarm. Then he was at the door marked, _Crew only--do not enter!_ He tapped on it, then grasped the knob and swung it open. A squat, open-featured man in blue, the bronze eagles of the Mercantile Service resting lightly on his powerful shoulders, looked at him. Recognition flared in his eyes. "Duane!" he whispered. "Peter Duane, what're you doing in the clothes of Andrias' household guard?" Duane felt the tenseness ebb out of his throat. Here was a friend. "Captain," he said, "you seem to be a friend of mine. If you are--I need you. You see, I've lost my memory." "Lost your memory?" the captain echoed. "You mean that blow on your head? The ship's surgeon said something ... yes, that was it. I hardly believed him, though." "But were we friends?" "Why, yes, Peter." "Then help me now," said Duane. "I have a cargo stowed in your hold, Captain. Do you know what it is?" "Why--yes. The rifles, you mean?" Duane blinked. He nodded, then looked dizzily for a chair. The captain was a friend of his, all right--a fellow gun-runner! "Good God," he said aloud. "What a mess!" "What's happened?" the captain asked. "I saw you in the corridor, arguing with Stevens. You looked like trouble, and I should have come up to you then. But the course was to be changed, and I had to be there.... And the next I hear, Stevens is dead, and you've maybe killed him. Then I heard you've lost your memory, and are in a jam with Andrias." He paused and speculation came into his eyes, almost hostility. "Peter Duane," he said softly, "it strikes me that you may have lost more than your memory. Which side are you on. What happened between you and Andrias? Tell me now if you've changed sides on me, man. For friendship's sake I won't be too hard on you. But there's too much at stake here--" "Oh, hell," said Peter, and the heat gun was suddenly in his hand, leveled at the squat man in blue. "I wish you were on my side, but there's no way I can tell. I can trust myself, I think--but that's all. Put up your hands!" And that was when his luck ran out. "Peter--" the captain began. IV But a sound from outside halted him. Together the two men stared at the viewplates. A siren had begun to shriek in the distance, the siren of a racing ground car. Through the gates it plunged, scattering the light wooden barrier. It spun crazily around on two wheels and came roaring for the ship. Andrias was in it. Peter turned on the captain, and the gun was rigidly outthrust in his hand. "Close your ports!" he snarled. "Up rockets--in a hurry!" "Listen, Peter," the captain began. "I said, hurry!" The car's brakes shrieked outside, and it disappeared from the view of the men. There was an abrupt babble of voices. "Close your ports!" Peter shouted savagely. "Now!"