He glanced at the clock on his desk, then reached out to grab his hat. "Better take another look at the guard while I'm at it," he told himself. He strode out of the office, hooking his sidearm belt from a hanger as he went by. It would be a good idea, he decided, to check post number four first this time. The landing pad guard had been a little less than perfectly alert tonight. "Probably worrying about last night," he told himself. He smiled reminiscently. Moresma had been pretty worried and scared when the patrol had brought him in. They'd gotten him out of the jam and kept him out of trouble, but it had been close. The local authorities didn't seem to have much sense of humor when it came to Federation personnel. In fact, they seemed to welcome incidents that could---- "Funny," he told himself. "There are plenty of Galactics here, too. They get along fine, but let one of our guardsmen drop a chewing gum wrapper---- Oh, well. One of those things, I guess." He walked around the corner of the building and strode down a hedge bordered path. As he walked, he looked about at the dark Commission buildings. It was a large compound. There were several posts and it took a large security guard detachment to give it adequate protection. He glanced up at the sky. A blue-lit flier was coming toward him, flying rather low. Suddenly, its lights blinked out. Hense looked at the suddenly dark shape incredulously. It seemed to be arcing down, toward the compound. He started forward at a run. Either that pilot was out of control, or he was crazy. In any event, he was going to crash in the compound unless his luck was fantastically good. He'd been coming in fast, too. The lights had indicated an official Oredanian ship. This, he decided, was definitely irregular. As he got to the pad, the ship came to an abrupt halt overhead. Then, it came down in a blur of speed. Not more than half a meter from the pavement, it checked its fall and settled. A door popped open. Hense flipped his light from his belt and snapped it on. The guard, he noted approvingly, had been prompt. The man had dashed up and now stood close by the flier, his weapon at the ready. A figure came out of the flier and stopped. "Put out that light!" snapped an annoyed voice. Hense snapped the switch on his hand light, then stared at the figure by the flier. Now, what was this? He wasn't accustomed to taking orders from some joker that barged in and shot an unauthorized landing. He was the one who should be giving the orders. He started to raise the light again. "Leave that light out, hang it," said the voice sharply. "I don't feel like being a target. And you! Don't point that thing at me! Now come on, both of you. Let's get out of the open. Take cover!"