Calhoun offered a knife, politely opening its blade. The man slashed at the cords and freed himself. There was an attache case lashed to his chute harness. He cut at those cords. The attache case not only came clear, but opened. It dumped out an incredible mass of brand new, tightly packed interstellar credit certificates. Calhoun could see that the denominations were one thousand and ten thousand credits. The man from the chute reached under his armpit and drew out a blaster. It was not a service weapon. It was elaborate, practically a toy. With a dour glance at Calhoun he put it in a side pocket and gathered up the scattered money. It was an enormous sum, but he packed it back. He stood up. "My name is Allison," he said in an authoritative voice. "Arthur Allison. I'm much obliged. Now I'll ask you to take me to Maya City." "No," said Calhoun politely. "I just left there. It's deserted. I'm not going back. There's nobody there." "But I've important bus--" The other man stared. "It's deserted? But that's impossible!" "Quite," agreed Calhoun, "but it's true. It's abandoned. Uninhabited. Everybody's left it. There's no one there at all." The man who called himself Allison blinked unbelievingly. He swore. Then he raged profanely. But he was not bewildered by the news. Which, upon consideration, was itself almost bewildering. But then his eyes grew shrewd. He looked about him. "My name is Allison," he repeated, as if there were some sort of magic in the word. "Arthur Allison. No matter what's happened, I've some business to do here. Where have the people gone? I need to find them." "I need to find them too," said Calhoun. "I'll take you with me, if you like." "You've heard of me." It was a statement, confidently made. "Never," said Calhoun politely. "If you're not hurt, suppose you get in the car? I'm as anxious as you are to find out what's happened. I'm Med Service." * * * * * Allison moved toward the car. "Med Service, eh? I don't think much of the Med Service! You people try to meddle in things that are none of your business!" Calhoun did not answer. The muddy man, clutching the attache case tightly, waded through the olive-green plants to the car and climbed in. Murgatroyd said cordially, "_Chee-chee!_" but Allison viewed him with distaste. "What's this?" "He's Murgatroyd," said Calhoun. "He's a _tormal_. He's Med service personnel." "I don't like beasts," said Allison coldly. "He's much more important to me than you are," said Calhoun, "if the matter should come to a test."