Narvi cast his blue eyes toward the ceiling and groaned aloud. "If I keep doing all these goofy things for you, I'll never make commander. I won't even make Vice-commander." Lors smiled. "Don't worry about it. If things work out, you'll have had a hand in opening up a new planet for our trade rockets." Narvi sighed. "All right. I'll do it, although I should have my head examined by the ship's doctors." Lors grinned at him and finished the last of his drink. "It'll work out, Narvi, and you'll probably get a medal." "A prison cell, likely," Narvi snorted, "on Thista." Lors slapped him lightly on the arm and left the ship's wardroom. He had a lot to do, and damned little time to do it in. CHAPTER SIXTEEN Lors left the wardroom and walked along the hollow, brightly lighted corridors toward the hospital where Detective Nolan Brice was being kept a prisoner. He would be the tough one of the two, because his mental roots were still very close to the witchcraft believing parents who had given him birth. Brice was a Pennsylvanian; he was fairly intelligent, but like all Pennsylvanians he had an unconscious closeness with tradition. He was of the type who would stoutly deny he was superstitious, yet would refuse to walk under a ladder. How would he react to Lors' proposal? Would he, with typical Dutch stubbornness, tell him to go to hell, or would he co-operate? It was a difficult thing to predict. Lors shoved the door to the hospital open and grinned at the spacer behind the desk. "You've a Terran here?" He asked. The spacer nodded and laid down the sheets of paper he had been ruffling as Lors came in. "Yes sir, we have one. He's in the care of Doctor Zuloe." "What are they doing to him?" "I'm not sure, sir. I understand he was in a great state of shock when he arrived. I would imagine they're giving him rehabilitative treatment." Lors grinned again. Apparently the method by which they had snatched the detective had completely unnerved him. "I'd like to see him," he told the spacer. "Where can I find Doctor Zuloe?" "I'm sorry, sir. Only authorized personnel will be allowed to interrogate him." "I'm authorized, I believe. I captured him. I'm Lors." The young spacer flushed. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know who you were." He pointed to the door behind him. "You may go through there. Straight down the corridor until you reach the fourth ward." "Doctor Zuloe will be there?" "I think so." "Thank you." Lors shoved the door open and walked down the long hall toward the fourth ward, not quite sure in his mind how he could spring the Terran from the hospital and get him down to where the scout ships were hangared. But it had to be done. If he failed, and they all ended up dead, or thrown into the penal colonies on Thista, the trade program with Terra would be set back at least fifty years. All the ground they had gained, all the knowledge and plans they had formulated, would be useless. They would have to start from scratch.