Duane braced himself with one arm against the pilot's chair and stared at them. The crazy circular course the blasted controls had given the ship had a strong lateral component; around and around the ship went, in a screaming circle, chasing its own tail. There was a sudden change in the light from the port outside; Duane involuntarily looked up for a moment. Dulled and purplish was the gleam from the brilliant stars all about; the _Cameroon_, in its locked orbit, had completed a circle and was plunging through its own wake of expelled jet-gases. He saw the two patrol rockets streak past; then saw the flood of rocket-flares from their side jets as they spun and braked, trying to match course and speed with the crazy orbit of the _Cameroon_. He'd looked away for only a second; abruptly he looked back. "Easy!" he snapped. Andrias' arm, which had begun to lift, straightened out, and the scowl on the governor's face darkened even more. _Clackety-clack._ There was the sound of a girl's high heels running along the corridor, followed by heavier thumps from the space boots of men. Duane jerked his gun at Andrias and his police. "Out of the way!" he said. "Let's see who's coming now." It was the girl. Red hair fluttering in the wake of her running, face alight with anxiety, she burst into the room. "Peter!" she cried. "Andrias and his men--" She stopped short and took in the tableau. Duane's eyes were on her, and he was about to speak. Then he became conscious of something in her own eyes, a sudden spark that flared even before her lips opened and a thin cry came from them; even before she leaped to one side, at Andrias. Peter cursed and tried to turn, to dodge; tried to bring his heat gun around. But a thunder louder than the bellowing jets outside filled the room, and a streak of livid fire crossed the fringe of Peter's brain. Sudden blackness closed in around him. He fell--and his closing eyes saw new figures running into the room, saw the counterplay of lashing heat beams. _This is it_--he thought grimly, and then thought no more. IV Duane was in the sickbay again, on the same bed. His head was spinning agonizedly. He forced his eyes open--and the girl was there; the same girl. She was watching him. A cloud on her face lifted as she saw his lids flicker open; then it descended again. Her lips quivered. "Darn you, Peter," she whispered. "Who are you now?" "Why--why, I'm Peter Duane, of course," he said. "Well, thank God you know that!" It was the captain. He'd changed since the last time Peter had seen him. One arm was slung in bandages that bore the yellow seeping tint of burn salve. Peter shook his head to try to clear it. "Where--where am I?" he asked. "Andrias--" "Andrias is where he won't bother you," the captain said. "Locked up below. So are two of his men. The other one's dead. How's your memory, Peter?"