Only then, just as it seemed certain that the hands of Kruze's men must surely seize me, there was a sudden flash; a silent sound of energy impacting. Behind me, a man gave a grunt of pain and shock. My own body went numb. A grav-car whished down from nowhere in the same instant. Incredulously, I felt myself being seized and lifted. A face came out of the darkness to confound my reeling senses. A lovely face, really. The face of a woman with blonde hair and laughing lips and clear grey eyes. Celeste Stelpa's face. Only that was impossible, of course. Besides, I couldn't seem to make the face stay in focus. While I watched, the laugh changed to a leer. Then, quite suddenly, blackness closed in.... CHAPTER III CELESTE There was a musty smell about this place, and it was deathly still. Beyond that-- I sighed, a sigh that was almost a groan, and shifted. My groping hand slid over something rough, like a coarse fabric. Dust rose and eddied to my nostrils. It made my head ache even worse. Yet I moved again, and this time caught the faint, half-whispered sounds of friction and of creaking. Another sigh. Slowly, painfully, uncertainly, I opened my eyes. Blackness, utter and complete. The very circumscription of it seemed to freeze me. I lay ever so still, running my tongue-tip along dry lips ... tasting the grittiness of my teeth. Slowly, recollection began to flow back through me. My mind picked up a faster beat. Where was I? How had I come here? What had happened? Again, I reached out, groping. I lay on some sort of narrow couch, it seemed. On either side of me it fell away to a rough, dust-filmed floor. Warily, I sat up and swung down my feet, then waited till my head had cleared. Rising, then, I felt my way along the couch. One end of it joined a wall. Still silent, still feeling my way, I followed the partition. It brought me to a door--a door securely locked. I moved on again. Four turns later, I bumped against the bed. That made it a room--a small, tight-sealed room, windowless and with one door, and furnished only with the couch on which I'd lain. My own role, apparently, was to wait here, humble and patient, till someone came to call me. The only trouble was, I didn't feel humble, nor patient either. There were too many questions in me; too much anger. And somehow, all the questions, all the anger, centered around one lovely face. Swiftly, I ran my hands over the couch. Only now, it developed, it wasn't a couch; not really. What I'd taken to be a fabric cover was nothing but a wad of sacking draped over a row of fibrox shipping cases. Fumbling, I located one of the case's opener tabs and sheared away the fibrox. Smaller cases spilled out, each about the size of a candybox. A tremor of excitement ran through me. Hastily, I ripped open one of these smaller cases ... ran my fingers over smooth metal and an array of dials and switches.