Propped up on pillows, the old man lay there like an ancient withered mummy. Only his skull-like eyes were alive, yellow and wild as he stared at his disfigured hands. His hands were more like paws for each finger and thumb had been severed close to the palm, the scars well-healed as if the mutilation had happened years ago. "They found his pilot's license in his pocket," the doctor said, "and the blood test proved his identity." "No!" Norman said, turning back to the bed. "This is impossible!" "I've given him a thorough examination," the doctor said. "He has every condition of advanced senility. We can't say how he lost his fingers nor how they healed so quickly. We only know this," his voice dropped to a whisper, "that he is very near death of old age...." Norman's eyes were damp. Through the window the afternoon sun lined the old man's sunken cheeks with deep shadows, gleamed on his thin, white hair. His voice was a high-pitched quaver. "My hands... my hands...." Norman sprang to the bed, knelt beside the ancient creature. "Johnny! It's me! Rick! Tell me what happened!" But the old man stared at him blankly, then looked back down at his hands again. Norman got to his feet slowly. "Okay, Johnny," he said through tight lips. "But I'll find out what happened to you. And I think I know where to start." Twenty minutes later, however, the pudgy Gorig Sade, Ambassador from Mercury, could offer little information. He leaned back in his gilded chair and raised his hand toward the sunset at the window. His right hand was artificial, an electric member in flesh-like plastic. "Behind that Sun," he said, a slight smile on his thick lips, "lies a planet without a human footprint. Within the Mercurian Zone of Protection, Vulcan is closely guarded by the Mercurian Zone Patrol. Vulcan is a death trap--too close in the Sun's gravitational field. We cannot answer to the safety of those who slip past the patrol and enter the whirlpool." Norman smiled, as a fighter smiles at his opponent when he comes out at the bell. "That's enough of that line, Sade. When did your patrol last see John Gordon? They were waiting for him off Mercury. You've had your paid killers after him ever since he refused to sell out to you. Now his gravitational counteractive turns up missing. It would have meant a lot to Mercury--or to you, rather, since your rotten politics owns the place." Sade got to his feet like a disturbed bull. "Get out!" His electric hand hummed as he raised it toward the door. "I shall see the Secretary of State about your insult!" Norman's left hand shot out like a striking snake, clutched the Ambassador's collar and dragged him out of his chair.