Lon went quickly to a port and looked out. The great black mass of the night side of Cetis Gamma Two filled half the firmament. It blotted out the sun. The space yacht might be two or three thousand miles up and in the planet's umbra--its shadow--which was not necessary for a space wedding, or for anything involving a reasonably brief stay in the excessive heat Cetis Gamma gave off. There were clankings. A door opened. The skipper came in and Cathy smiled at him because she didn't realize Lon's fierce apprehension. Four other men followed, all in soiled and untidy space yacht uniforms, then two other men in more ordinary clothing. Their expressions were distinctly uneasy. The four sailors walked matter of factly over to Lon and grabbed at him. They should have taken him completely by surprise, but he had been warned just enough to explode into battle. It was a very pretty fight, for a time. Lon kept three of them busy. One snarled with a wrenched wrist, another spat blood and teeth and a third had a closed eye before the fourth swung a chair. Then Lon hit something with his head. It was the deck, but he didn't know it. * * * * * When he came to, he was hobbled. He was not bound so he couldn't move, but his hands were handcuffed together, with six inches of chain between for play. His ankles were similarly restricted. He could move, but he could not fight. Blood was trickling down his temple and somebody was holding his head up. The skipper said impatiently, "All right, stand back." Lon's head was released. The skipper jerked a thumb. Men went out. Lon looked about desperately for Cathy. She was there--dead white and terrified, but apparently unharmed. She stared at Lon in wordless pleading. "You're a suspicious guy, aren't you?" asked the skipper sardonically. "Somebody lays a finger on you and you start fighting. But you've got the idea. I'll say it plain so we can get moving. You're Lon Simpson. Carson, down on the planet, reported some nice news about you. You made a gadget that converts any sort of leaf to _thanar_. Maybe it turns stuff to other stuff, too." He paused. "We want to know how to make gadgets like that. You're gonna draw plans an' explain the theory. I got guys here to listen. We're gonna make one, from your plans an' explanations, an' it'd better work. See?" "Carson sent for you to do this," Lon Simpson said thickly. "He did. The Company wants it. They'll use it to make _zuss_ fiber and sicces dust, and stuff like that. Maybe dream dust, too, an' so on. The point is you're gonna tell us how to make those gadgets. How about it?" Lon licked his lips. He said slowly, "I think there's more. Go on."