Saxon couldn't inform the T.I.S. of his knowledge. He had no proof, except what he had read in this one man's mind. He had told Villainowski of his suspicions. The chief had promised to set the T.I.S. onto the case, but they had turned up no evidence of any kind against the great corporation. General Atomic had done its work with utmost secrecy, not letting its right hand know what its left hand was doing. Saxon was desperate. He grasped the girl's slight shoulders. "What do you know about it, Ileth?" "I don't know anything. Oh Lord, Jon, I'm to be General Atomic's representative aboard the _Shooting Star_, and they've told me nothing of any plot against the ship. Nothing, Jon, I swear it." With a disheartening feeling of defeat, Jon realized the girl was telling the truth. She had been told nothing of General Atomic's plan. She, too, he read in her frightened thoughts, had been instructed to take orders from a General Atomic's agent whom she knew as Q62. "Who's Q62?" he shot at her. Ileth's hazel-green eyes were enormous. "You! How did you know?" "Who's Q62?" "I don't know. I've never met him." "How will you know him?" "I don't know. They said he would be able to identify himself. That's all. They wouldn't tell me how." All at once Saxon's skin began to prickle its warning of danger. He released the girl, wheeled towards the door just as it was flung viciously back. He saw three men in the opening and reached for his dart gun. With a half sob, Ileth hurled herself on him, bearing him backward to the couch, her arms around his chest, her long legs tangled with his. [Illustration: _With a half sob, Ileth hurled herself on him._] "Emil!" she panted. "Quick! He's got a gun!" "Easy. Easy. Easy," said a man's low amused voice. Jon Saxon succeeded in throwing Ileth off his chest and surging to his feet. He found himself staring into the tiny barrel of a dart gun. The dart gun was being held steady as a rock by a gray-eyed, yellow-haired man with a faint smile on his wide thin lips. Saxon let his hand fall away from his holster. "Get his gun, Ileth." "Right, Emil." Saxon felt the girl's cool fingers slip inside his blouse, pluck his automatic from his holster. "Has he any other weapons?" She patted Saxon deftly, impersonally, shook her head, her black hair swinging. "No. That's all." The blond man lowered his gun. "You may sit down, sir." Saxon sat down. * * * * * There were two others behind the blond man but Saxon kept his eyes on Emil, recognizing a dangerous type. Obviously well educated, intelligent, the blond man was fiercely loyal to General Atomic. Not such a queer combination in these times, Saxon thought; when the corporations had come to replace countries in men's loyalties.