"Why didn't you shoot as I came in?" Arena jiggled his foot. "I like your style," he said. "You handled Heavy real good. He's supposed to be my toughest boy." "What about the combat car? More friends of yours?" "Nah," he said, chuckling easily. "Some Jersey boys heard I had a caller. They figured to knock him off on general principles. A nifty." He stopped laughing. "The Gyrob was mine; a remoted job. Nice piece of equipment. You cost me real dough tonight." "Gee," I said. "That's tough." "And besides," he said, "I know who you are." I waited. He leaned over and picked something off the table. It was my wallet. "I used to be in the Navy myself. Academy man, believe it or not. Almost, anyway. Kicked out three weeks before graduation. A frame. Well, practically a frame; there was plenty of guys doing what I was doing." "That where you learned to talk like a hood?" For a second Arena almost didn't smile. "I am perfectly capable of expressing myself like a little gentleman, when I feel so inclined," he said, "but I say to hell with it." "You must have been before my time," I said. "A year or two. And I was using a different name then. But that wasn't my only hitch with the Service. When the Trouble started, I enlisted. I wanted some action. When the Navy found out they had a qualified Power Section man on their hands, I went up fast. Within fourteen months I was a J. G. How about that?" "Very commendable." "So that's how I knew about the trick I. D. under the emulsion on the snapshot. You should have ditched it, Maclamore. Or should I say Captain Maclamore?" * * * * * My mouth opened, but I couldn't think of a snappy answer to that one. I was in trouble. I had meant to play it by ear once I reached Arena to get the information I needed. That was out now. He knew me. He had topped my aces before I played them. Suddenly Arena was serious. "You came to the right man, Maclamore. You heard I had one of your buddies here, right? I let the word leak; I thought it might bring more of you in. I was lucky to get Admiral Hayle's deputy." "What do you want with me?" Arena leaned forward. "There were eight of you. Hayle and his aide, Wolfgang, were shot when they wouldn't spill to the Provisional Government--or whatever that mob calls itself. Margan got himself killed in some kind of tangle near Denver. The other four boys pulled a fast one and ducked out with the scout you guys came back in. They were riding dry tanks--the scout had maybe thirty ton/hours fuel aboard--so they haven't left the planet. That leaves you stranded. With six sets of Federal law looking for you. Right?" "I can't argue with what's in the newspapers," I said.