"Would you like to check my logic, Traynor?" My tormentor was openly taunting now, his whole heavy body aquiver with enjoyment. "As I see it, once you and the girl are dead, I've nothing to fear. If you'd told anyone else about this, any man, he'd have come here with you. Because not even an unconditioned fool like you could have enjoyed playing out a hand like this alone. Right?" I didn't answer. "You and the girl, you and the girl.--Traynor, perhaps I can solace your final hours on Sheol. Instead of having the girl summarily executed, it may be I can arrange a less public end for her so that she spends a long time dying. Does that appeal to you?" I waited for a moment before I spoke. Somehow, for no good reason, it seemed that I had to find precisely the right words, the right pattern. Then, abruptly, that moment passed, and language no longer mattered. "Kruze," I said, quite levelly, "count on one thing: I'm going to kill you." The controller's eyes widened, just a fraction. "Traynor, you fool--!" I got up, paying him no heed. It was a stolid, unhurried movement, better suited to his temperament and heavy body than to mine. "Traynor, I'll shoot!" I laughed aloud. "Traynor--!" I said, "Don't worry. You'll kill me. But I'll still get to you, even so. Dead or alive, bare-handed, I'll tear open your throat and bash your brains out!" "Traynor, listen...." Flat-footed, unspeaking, I took a slow step towards him. Kruze's knuckles whitened on the paragun's trigger. Deliberately, I took another step. Just as deliberately, Kruze adjusted his aim. And there it stood: Beyond all doubt, Controller Alfred Kruze would kill me. What were the odds, then? How much chance did I have, for all my talk, of charging in to strike him down? Only I didn't have any choice but to try. Not really. Not with Celeste's very life at stake. Tight-lipped, I drew a long, deep breath. Only then, incredibly, off beyond Kruze, by the warp-room's entrance, movement flickered. The breath caught in my throat. I forced myself to hold my eyes full front on Kruze. * * * * * Over by the hatchway, the movement resolved itself into a death-pale, shadow-silent figure ... the figure of a woman, creeping out from behind the solid banks of micromesh transistors. Celeste. Only that was impossible. I began to shake. Kruze laughed. "It's not so easy, is it Traynor? Not when you know the other man will shoot!" I didn't answer. I couldn't. And still Celeste moved, like a figure out of nightmare. Step after aching step, closer and closer to the entry. Kruze again: "All right, Traynor. Make up your mind. Have you got the nerve or not?" Against the wall, Celeste's sleeve whispered in the stillness. It seemed incredible that Kruze showed no sign that he heard it. Desperately, and in a voice that cracked till it held no faintest resemblance to my own, I said, "Don't worry, Kruze. I'm coming."