Then, abruptly, there was a click of gears meshing. Tenons dovetailed. The hatch slid inward on its thick, girder-rigid tracks, back between the island banks of micromesh transistors. Not waiting further, I squeezed between cylinder and slot and scrambled out into the night. "Agent Traynor--?" The voice came from the shadows. A dull, phlegmatic, tranquilized, conditioned voice. I stopped short; turned fast. "Who's asking?" The man shrugged stolidly, not even picking up my tension. "I'm a port rep, Agent Traynor. Port rep second, that is--" "So who told you to come out here? Who said you should meet me?" "Oh...." A pause. "Well, you see, there's this sigman, Agent Traynor. Up in the Interworld Communications section. He had a regular 7-D clearance report that a FedGov Security investigation agent was warping in--you have to file a 7-D on all warpings, you know, Agent Traynor, on account of restrictives. So--well, the rep first was out to eat, so I just notified Rizal Security, just a routine report, and the unit controller there, an Agent Gaylord, he said for me to meet you, and--" I bit down hard and shifted my weight, both at once, wondering if a broken jaw would interfere with the work of a port rep second. Only then, all at once, I caught the unmistakable _whish_ of a grav-car sweeping in. The lights hit us almost in the same instant. Two seconds later a man who said he was Agent Gaylord was jumping down and locking wrists with me in Rizal's traditional greeting. Even that wrist-lock set my teeth on edge. It was too solid, too stolid, too thorough a job of conditioning. Or was it maybe, just a trifle over-done? Thoughtfully, I studied Gaylord. A tiny vein was twitching, up close to his hair-line. He seemed to have a tendency to nibble at his lower lip also. His nails-- We got into the grav-car. The routine began almost before we were off the ground: "Sorry I wasn't here to meet you, Traynor. But we didn't get a copy of your assignment order, or even of your warping clearance." I shrugged. "I'm not surprised. The whole thing was pretty sudden." "Oh?" Unit Controller Gaylord sounded as if he were trying to sound casual. "Just what is the 'whole thing,' Traynor? Are you allowed to tell me about it?" "Glad to, if you'll promise not to turn me in for a psych check." I made a business of chuckling with wry good humor. "As a matter of fact, I'm here to become the recipient of good fortune." "The re--What--?" The grav-car rocked as Gaylord swung round, staring at me. "The recipient of good fortune," I repeated. "Rizal's a lucky planet these days: that's the word. So I'm here to see if I can hook one of the prizes." * * * * * Gaylord faced front again--a trifle abruptly, it seemed. The grav-car speeded up. I said "They're clever gadgets, Gaylord. Have you picked up any more of them?" My companion's face stayed expressionless as a mask. "Any more of what?" I shrugged. "Thrill-mills, obviously."