"I think, Liane," I replied, "that Mr. Hendricks is a very young man." "And that I am a dangerous woman?" She laughed softly. "That, at least," I told her, "your interests and ours are not identical." "True," she said coolly, pausing before the door of her stateroom. Her hand dropped from my arm, and she drew herself up regally. In the bright flow of the ethon tubes overhead she was almost irresistibly beautiful. "Our interests are not identical, Commander Hanson. They are widely divergent, directly opposed to each other, as a matter of fact. And--may I be so bold as to offer you a bit of advice?" I bowed, saying nothing. "Then, don't attempt to meddle with things which are more powerful, than you and the forces you control. And--don't waste breath on Mr. Hendricks. Fair warning!" Before I could ask for more complete explanation, she had slipped inside her stateroom and firmly closed the door. * * * * * We set down on Lakos late that afternoon, close to the city--town, rather--of Gio, where those in charge of operations made their headquarters. With Liane and Correy, leaving the ship in charge of Kincaide, I made my way quickly toward the headquarters building. We had gone but a few steps when Liane was surrounded by a shouting throng of her fellow Lakonians, and with a little mocking wave of a white hand, she stepped into a sort of litter which had been rushed to the scene, and was carried away. "For one," commented Correy with a sigh of relief, "I'm glad she's out of sight. If I never see her again, it'll be too soon. When do we start something?" "Not until we've talked with Fetter, who's in command here. I have a letter for him from the Chief. We'll see what he has to say." One thing was certain; we could look for no assistance of any kind from the natives. They regarded us with bleak scowls, from beneath shaggy, lowering brows, our uniforms of blue, with the silver ornaments of our service and rank, identifying us clearly. In the greenish Lakonian twilight, they were sinister figures indeed, clothed all alike in short, sleeveless tunics, belted loosely at the waist, feet and legs encased in leather buskins reaching nearly to the knees, their brown, gnarled limbs and stoop-shouldered postures giving them a half-bestial resemblance which was disturbing. Their walk was a sort of slow shuffle, which made their long arms dangle, swinging disjointedly. We entered the administration building of gray, dull stone, and were ushered immediately into the office of the head of operations. "Hanson?" he greeted me. "Mighty glad to see you. You too, Correy. Terrible hole, this; hope you're not here for long. Sorry I couldn't meet you at the ship; got your radio, but couldn't make it. Everything's in a jam. Getting worse all the time. And we're shorthanded; not half enough men here. Sit down, sit down. Seem good to feel firm ground under your feet?"