"Two or three more runs," Gubelin grunted bitterly. "You've heard the rumors. Appropriations is going to lower the boom on us. Unless we can get Pond back into harness, we're sunk. The runs will never be made. I tell you, Hans...." * * * * * But Hans Girard-Perregaux was wagging him to silence with a finger. "They'll be made. I've taken steps to see friend Seymour Pond comes dragging back to us." "But he _hates_ space! The funker probably won't consent to come within a mile of the New Albuquerque Spaceport for the rest of his life, the blistering cloddy." A desk light flicked green, and Girard-Perregaux raised his eyebrows. "Exactly at the psychological moment. If I'm not mistaken, Lofting, that is probably our fallen woman." "Our _what_?" But Doctor Hans Girard-Perregaux had come to his feet and personally opened the door. "Ah, my dear," he said affably. Natalie Paskov, done today in Bulgarian peasant garb, and as faultless in appearance as she had been in the Kudos Room, walked briskly into the office. "Assignment carried out," she said crisply. "Indeed," Girard-Perregaux said approvingly. "So soon?" Gubelin looked from one to the other. "What in the blistering name of Zoroaster is going on?" His friend said. "Academician Gubelin, may I present Operative Natalie of Extraordinary Services Incorporated?" "Extraordinary Services?" Gubelin blurted. "In this case," Natalie said smoothly, even while taking the chair held for her by Doctor Girard-Perregaux, "a particularly apt name. It was a dirty trick." "But for a good cause, my dear." She shrugged. "So I am often told, when sent on these far-out assignments." Girard-Perregaux, in spite of her words, was beaming at her. "Please report in full," he said, ignoring his colleague's obvious bewilderment. Natalie Paskov made it brief. "I picked up the subject in the Kudos Room of the Greater Metropolis Hotel, pretending to be a devotee of the space program as an excuse. It soon developed that he had embarked upon a celebration of his retirement. He was incredibly naive, and allowed me to over-indulge him in semi-narcotics as well as alcohol, so that his defensive inhibitions were low. I then took him to a gambling spot where, so dull that he hardly knew what he was doing, he lost his expendable capital." Gubelin had been staring at her, but now he blurted, "But suppose he had won?" She shrugged it off. "Hardly, the way I was encouraging him to wager. Each time he won, I urged him to double up. It was only a matter of time until ..." she let the sentence dribble away. Girard-Perregaux rubbed his hands together briskly. "Then, in turn, it is but a matter of time until friend Pond comes around again."