"Lieutenant, perhaps the seriousness of our circumstances has not impressed you fully. But the _Albion_, carrying this inexperienced crew, stands in imminent danger of being overwhelmed by the League fleet, or at best, being cut off from Terran base. Therefore I think it.... Oops!" Harrigan had knocked his water pitcher to the floor. The plastic didn't break, but water splashed. Sanderson jumped back convulsively, his face white. O'Brien motioned an orderly to mop up the mess, and the admiral went on. "You are a seasoned junior officer, Sanderson. Your record is excellent, otherwise some form of punishment would be in order. I shouldn't need to repeat that it is your duty to keep your crew on the alert until we are out of danger. Dismissed." The lieutenant saluted and turned to leave. "Oh, Sanderson, one more thing." Harrigan rose and walked around the desk. "Yes, sir?" The admiral faced the lieutenant and, before the dumbfounded eyes of Rose, McDaniels and the orderly, very deliberately drew his service blaster and shot Sanderson dead center between the eyes. McDaniels gulped. Rose jumped up trembling. The orderly let his mop fall with a clatter. O'Brien winked at Harrigan. "Great hell, you've killed him." Rose found his voice. "That I have. That, gentlemen ..." Harrigan pointed to the corpse, "is a Zith." An immediate babble of "why's" and "how do you know's" filled the air. "Look," the admiral motioned and the men gathered around the corpse. Harrigan stooped, ran his fingers through the thick black hair and came up with two fleshy, antenna-like appendages about four inches in length, which sprouted from the skull an inch or so above the hair-line. "On the Zith home planet, their religion requires that the head be cleanly shaven, and these antennae are a source of pride. But when a Zith wishes to pass for a Terran, he allows his hair to grow, and as long as the antennae are kept flat, he has a fair chance of going undetected. It's one of the oddities of the Universe that the Zith and Terran, so unlike in temperament, are, to the eye, unlike only in this small way. But, in Terran company, most Ziths acquire the nervous habit of continually running their hands over their hair, to make sure that the antennae are well hidden." "But a lot of Terrans have the habit of smoothing down their hair," Rose objected. "Isn't that pretty thin evidence to shoot a man by, if you're not sure?" * * * * *