"You'd keep a damned close eye on him. And if he started telling you what to do and when to do it or he'd suffocate you, you'd get to hating his guts even if he behaved like the spirit of Christ Himself!" "Who taught you all this, Master Kane? Who is this Christ?" "Look, Deanne, a grown man should be capable of thinking for himself! But before you go getting sore at me again, just answer this one about the guy holding your oxytank--suppose, somehow, he forgot, little by little, how to work the valve--and realized that there was a chance you might find out about it? He wouldn't be in the pilot's seat anymore, would he?" "He wouldn't be able to shut me off, if that's what you mean," she said quickly, going along now with his analogy. "But he wouldn't be able to give me more air in a hurry if I needed it, either!" "And so then what happens?" The girl's face was suddenly grim. For a long moment, Kane could see, she was thinking, and thinking hard. And then she said at length, "Is that where you come in?" "If I can give you back your tank of air, I guess it is." "And if you can't?" "Then I'm afraid the one in the worst trouble will be the guy who's holding it," Jon answered. And then he turned from her, reseated himself before the control panels and kicked out the automatics. In minutes, he had the tender swung to, and was climbing down his jet to one of Titan's largest spaceports. It was still a bright planet, and its artificial atmosphere, islands and great lakes were as his father had described them. Titan was, indeed, an oasis in the cruel coldness of the void. He landed the tender with scarcely a jar, and then wordlessly, he and Deanne opened the small craft's locks and stepped out on the tarmac to greet the landing party that had been alerted to receive them. Two tall, cloaked men strode forward. "Jon Kane and Deanne Starn?" "Greetings--" Kane began. "You will come with us," one of them said. His short red beard seemed to glisten in the sun-like atmospheric light. "You are under arrest!" * * * * * The small, air-conditioned cell was clean, at least, and a far cry from those on Procyon V. There was even a low tablet on which to lie, and Jon sprawled himself out upon it. He wished, vaguely, that they hadn't separated him from the girl. She was a pretty thing--and, had brains. Between the two of them they might've figured a way out, but alone it was like beating your head against a carbonite wall.