"I'm staying out at the Shed," Joe told him awkwardly. "My family's known Major Holt a long time. I'm staying at his house behind the Shed." Haney raised his eyebrows but said nothing. "Better get out there then," said the Chief. "It's midnight, and they might want to lock up. There's your bus." A lighted bus was waiting by the curb. Its doors were open, but it was empty of passengers. Single busses ran out to the Shed now and then, but they ran in fleets at shift-change time. Joe went over and climbed aboard the bus. "We'll turn up early," said the Chief. "This won't be a shift job. We'll look things over and lay out what we want and then get to work, eh?" "Right," said Joe. "And thanks." "We'll be there with our hair in braids," said Mike, in his cracked voice. "Now a glass of beer and so to bed. 'Night." Haney waved his hand. The three of them marched off, the two huge figures of Haney and the Chief, with Mike trotting truculently between them, hardly taller than their knees. They were curiously colorful with all the many-tinted neon signs upon them. They turned into a diner. Joe sat in the bus, alone. The driver was off somewhere. The sounds of Bootstrap were distinctive by night. Footsteps, and the jangling of bicycle bells, and voices, and a radio blaring somewhere and a record-shop loud-speaker somewhere else, and a sort of underriding noise of festivity. There was a sharp rap on the glass by Joe's window. He started and looked out. Braun--battered, and bleeding from the corner of his mouth--motioned urgently for him to come to the door of the bus. Joe went. Braun stared up at him in a new fashion. Now he was neither dogged nor fierce nor desperate to look at. Despite the beating he'd taken, he seemed completely and somehow frighteningly tranquil. He looked like somebody who has come to the end of torment and is past any feeling but that of relief from suffering. "You--" said Braun. "That girl you were with today. Her pop is Major Holt, eh?" Joe frowned, and reservedly said that he was. "You tell her pop," said Braun detachedly, "this is hot tip. Hot tip. Look two kilometers north of Shed tomorrow. He find something bad. Hot! You tell him. Two kilometers." "Y-yes," said Joe, his frown increasing. "But look here----" "Be sure say hot," repeated Braun. Rather incredibly, he smiled. Then he turned and walked quickly away. Joe went back to his seat in the empty bus, and sat there and waited for it to start, and tried to figure out what the message meant. Since it was for Major Holt, it had something to do with security. And security meant defense against sabotage. And "hot" might mean merely _significant_, or--in these days--it might mean _something else_. In fact, it might mean something to make your hair stand on end when thought of in connection with the Space Platform.