Loris laughed huskily and stretched her arms above her head. The green mist settled slowly around her ankles. He could remember his vague surprise that the pearly-hued flesh was not cold as she came into his arms, but warm, quite warm-- Was he imagining it, or was there a twinkle in the eye of the Oldest Man? "The Old Men," he was saying drily, "are not too old to have memories. The destruction of a Security Check could be considered a major crime but, since there is no war, the committee is willing to take into consideration your excellent record as Commander of the Patrol--and the circumstances. It is regrettable that we cannot tell what did happen to your mate, but the committee agrees that you are not to blame. You are free to go, Captain." Ool walked out into the sunlight. He was free but Loris was dead. He soon found that he was not alone in his grief. Messages poured in. With the familiarity they always feel toward their heroes, the people had made his loss their own. And when he met Tanya, the exotic Martian dancer, they shared his happiness. There was no attempt this time to disconnect the Security Screen, so the Watchers were able to tell exactly what happened. The two merely fell asleep. Ool--as he must have done before--slept for several days, as if he had been drugged, then awoke to find himself a widower for the second time. Nothing had happened, but Tanya was dead. The examination to which Ool was submitted now was even more thorough than the one he had undergone earlier. The results were the same. Once more he was found innocent. But if the committee absolved him, many of the people did not. Black looks were thrown at him, people began to edge away from him in the streets. Ool did not blame them. To him, it was as simple as it was to them. Two women had mated with him; two women were dead. The fault was his. There were plenty of places where they didn't care who you were or what you had done as long as you had the price of a drink. Ool found them all. In them gathered the outcasts of half a dozen planets--thieves, murderers, saboteurs--and in the midst of them, Captain Ool, the pride of the Interplanetary Patrol, tried to drink himself into oblivion. He was well on his way one night sitting alone at his table when a girl came to the door and looked in, as if searching for someone. Not the sort of girl you'd expect to find in a place like this; she was clean and healthy. Her short golden curls gleamed through the blue haze, and her firm-muscled young body in its short tunic was the focus of many bleary eyes as she threaded her way between the tables. "Ool, I've been looking for you," she cried. He looked at her hazily. "You don't want me," he spoke carefully, managing not to slur his words. "I'm Ool, the lady killer. I'll get you if you don't watch out." He giggled and tipped up the bottle. It was empty so he waved the waiter over.