Tod Denver and Darbor ran the length of the illuminated hangar to the take-off pits at the far end. His space sled was the last in line. That would help for a quick blast-off. Darbor was panting, ready to drop from exhaustion. But she dragged gamely on. Gun ready, he reached up to the airlock flap. Inside the ship was sudden commotion. A scream was cut off sharply. Scurried movement became bedlam. Uproar ceased as if a knife had cut through a ribbon of sound. Denver flung open the flap and scrabbled up and through the valve to the interior. Two of Big Ed's trigger men lay on the floor. One had just connected with a high-voltage charge from Charley. The other had quietly fainted. Denver dumped them outside, helped Darbor up and closed the ship for take-off. He switched off cabin lights. He wasted no time in discussion until the ship was airborne and had nosed through the big dome-valves into the airless Lunar sky. A fat hunk of Earth looked like a blueberry chiffon pie, but was brighter. It cast crazy shadows on the terrain unreeling below. Darbor sat beside him. She felt dazed, and wondered briefly what had happened to her. Less than an hour before she had entered the _Pot o' Stars_ with nothing on her mind but assessing the clients and the possible receipts for the day. Too much had happened and too rapidly. She could not assimilate details. Something launched itself through darkness at her. It snugged tightly to shoulder and neck and made chuckling sounds. Stiff fur nuzzled her skin. There was a vague prickling of hot needles, but it was disturbing rather than painful. She screamed. "Shut up!" said Denver, laughing. "It's just Charley. But don't excite him or you'll regret it." From the darkness came a confused burble of sounds as Charley explored and bestowed his affections upon a new friend still too startled to appreciate the gesture. Darbor tried vainly to fend off the lavish demonstrations. Denver gunned the space sled viciously, and felt the push of acceleration against his body. He headed for a distant mountain range. "Just Charley, my pet moondog," he explained. "What in Luna is that?" "You'll find out. He loves everybody. Me, I'm more discriminating, but I can be had. My father warned me about women like you." "How would he know?" Darbor asked bitterly. "What did he say about women like me?" "It's exciting while it lasts, and it lasts as long as your money holds out. It's wonderful if you can afford it. But Charley's harmless. He's like me, he just wants to be loved. Go on. Pet him." "All males are alike," Darbor grumbled. Obediently, she ran fingers over the soft, wirelike pseudo-fur. The fingers tingled as if weak charges of electricity surged through them. "Does it--er, Charley ever blow a fuse?" she asked. "I'd like to have met your father. He sounds like a man who had a lot of experience with women. The wrong women. By the way, where are we going?" * * * * *