Charles was fairly dry, except for a trickle of icy water following a contour that meandered to his left knee. After an hour of eye-straining--nothing to be seen--and ear-straining--only the patter of rain--he heard a snore and kicked the jaygee. The jaygee cursed wearily and said: "I guess we'd better talk to keep awake." "_I'm_ not having any trouble, pirate." "Oh, knock it off--where do you get that pirate bit, gangster?" "You're outlaws, aren't you?" "Like hell we are. _You're_ the outlaws. You rebelled against the lawfully constituted North American Government. Just because you won--for the time being--doesn't mean you were right." "The fact that we won does mean that we were right. The fact that your so-called Government lives by raiding and scavenging off us means you were wrong. God, the things I've seen since I joined up with you thugs!" "I'll bet. Respect for the home, sanctity of marriage, sexual morality, law and order--you never saw anything like that back home, did you gangster?" He looked very smug. Orsino clenched his teeth. "Somebody's been telling you a pack of lies," he said. "There's just as much home and family life and morality and order back in Syndic Territory as there is here. And probably a lot more." "Bull. I've seen intelligence reports; I know how you people live. Are you telling me you don't have sexual promiscuity? Polygamy? Polyandry? Open gambling? Uncontrolled liquor trade? Corruption and shakedowns?" Orsino squinted along the barrel of the gun into the rain. "Look," he said, "take me as an average young man from Syndic Territory. I know maybe a hundred people. I know just three women and two men who are what you'd call promiscuous. I know one family with two wives and one husband. I don't really know any people personally who go in for polyandry, but I've met three casually. And the rest are ordinary middle-aged couples." "Ah-_hah_! Middle-aged! Do you mean to tell me you're just leaving out anybody under middle age when you talk about morality?" "Naturally," Charles said, baffled. "Wouldn't you?" The only answer was a snort. "What are bupers?" Charles asked. "Bu-Pers," the jaygee said distinctly. "Bureau of Personnel, North American Navy." "What do you do there?" "What _would_ a personnel bureau do?" the jaygee said patiently. "We recruit, classify, assign, promote and train personnel." "Paperwork, huh? No wonder you don't know how to shoot or drive." "If I didn't need you to cover my back, I'd shove this MG down your silly throat. For your information, gangster, all officers do a tour of duty on paperwork before they're assigned to their permanent branch. I'm going into the pigboats." "Why?" "Family. My father commands a sub. He's Captain Van Dellen." _Oh, God. Van Dellen._ The sub commander Grinnel--and he--had murdered. The kid hadn't heard yet that his father had been "lost" in an emergency dive. * * * * *