Something was happening just outside the main control room door. The three executive officers guarding the door had moved eight or ten paces down the corridor, and the door itself was standing ajar. The executive officers had their backs turned to Corriston and were making no attempt to conceal their agitation. They were very pale, at least, one of them was. Two had their backs completely turned, but Corriston caught a brief glimpse of the third man's profile, and it seemed completely drained of color, as if the mask had stopped mirroring emotion artificially and had allowed the wearer's actual pallor to seep through. Corriston glided quickly to the door, passed through it and shut it very quietly behind him. The commander had his back turned too. He was standing before the viewport, staring out into space. But the commander did seem dazed, did seem stunned. Corriston could tell by his posture, by the way he held his shoulders, by the utter rigidity of his neck. Then he saw it, the long cylindrical hull touched by a pale glimmer of starlight, the circular, glowing ports, the massive, atomic-projectile launching turrets at its base. He saw it through the viewport, saw it past the commander's stiffening shoulders--an American war cruiser of formidable tonnage and armed with sufficient fire power to shatter a small moon. All right, let the Big Dark contain it for a moment, poised out there, ready for any contingency. Right at the moment a scoundrel must be unmasked in a very stark way. Whatever trouble he had brought upon himself, he must be made to face it now without the mask. Corriston unholstered his gun and walked toward the commander across the deck. He came up behind him and thrust the gun into the small of his back. "Turn around," he ordered. "Don't make any other move. Just turn slowly and face me. I want to take a good look at your face." If the commander was startled, he didn't show it. Perhaps the war cruiser had dealt him such a crushing blow that he was no longer capable of experiencing shock. Or his control may have been extraordinary. Corriston had no way of knowing and it didn't concern him too much. He was chiefly interested in the commander's eyes. He had never before seen eyes quite so piercing in their stare or narrowed in quite such an ugly way. The commander spoke almost instantly and his voice had a steel-cold rasp. "Well?" he said. Just a few words--just the shortest possible question he could have asked. Corriston said: "You're wearing a mask, aren't you, commander?" The impostor's expression did not change, but his hand went instinctively to his throat. "Remove your tie and unbutton your collar," Corriston said. The man made another quick gesture with his hand in the direction of his throat. But it seemed involuntary, protective, for he did not touch his collar.