The crescendo of destruction reached new heights. The Tane Jewel was following him, splashing its insidious yellow radiance through the glassene window of the navigation bridge. It dogged his footsteps ... closer ... closer. The pilot's seat. The surette. Blackness encroached upon his vision. Dimly he was aware of his arm; it moved instinctively ... slowly ... slowly. The regular driver atomics began to shriek. His arm made another movement, flicking jet studs. Power suddenly sang in the forward jet chambers and ejected itself in a great, mushrooming flame. The _Algol_ lurched backwards ... another lurch ... straining ... a third. And the _Algol_ was suddenly free. The yawning pit of blackness closed its gaping maw on Glayne and he slid down, down, down.... * * * * * It occurred to Glayne, when he woke up, that his quarters in the _Algol_ had a changed appearance. He climbed from his acceleration hammock and bounded to the shower. "Terran Standard!" he snorted to himself. "What the hell is Harbin doing puttering along like that?" As he dried himself from the tingling shower he tried to put his finger on the change that had come over his quarters. For one thing, he couldn't find what he wanted. But an even worse defect was the absence of his dust. Flag officers in the Stellar Guardians were generally conceded some slight idiosyncrasy through which they could assert their individuality in a service where individuality was otherwise rigorously suppressed. Glayne's own idiosyncrasy was dust. After five long years as a Dorleb training-cadet without a speck of dust to his name, Glayne felt he had earned his right to wallow in a bit of dust. But now it was all gone. His quarters were spotless. He had finished dressing when a cautious knock sounded on his entrance portal; then it dilated before he could answer. Harbin's face appeared in the opening. "Oh! I'm sorry, sir. Didn't think you were awake yet," Harbin said apologetically. "Forget it," grunted Glayne. "Come in." Harbin entered the room and fidgeted nervously for a moment. "Sir!" he finally burst out, "I ... we're sorry about that unpleasantness. I want to apologize on behalf of--" Glayne snorted and cut him off with a wave of his arm. "What I want to know," he said with deceptive calmness, "is, where the hell is my dust?" Harbin grinned. "Lieutenant Chodred. I advised her against it--told her it was one of your peculiarities. But she wouldn't listen." "What 'she' is this?" inquired a new voice, pleasantly husky. Glayne turned and saw Niala leaning in the entrance stage. "You know damned well whom we are talking about," he said ominously. "Why did you take away my dust?" "Oh, is that all?" she laughed. It was a deliciously cool and tinkling laugh. Harbin foresaw an imminent explosion. Being a discreet warrior who longs to fight another day, he fled from the room.