The night closed in upon him--the night, and the narrow street; the alien sounds and smells and stir of Gandor City. A cadet from the Federation fleet pushed past him, a moss-furred Callistan crustach perched on his shoulder. Behind the cadet came two spask-masked berlon prospectors, up from the Hertzog fields, leading their lumbering flipper-tentacled coddob by a chain run through its gill-slits. The throb of the atmosphere compressors pressed in like a giant heartbeat, punctuated by the rattle of surface carriers, the shrill wail of tricol pipes. A sweetish, slightly nauseous scent of thes-wood flares and Martian paggod eddied from the doorway of a greasy-looking grill that placarded "Genuine Earth Meats--No Synthetics, No Alien Substitutes!" Once more, Boone checked his chronox. It was less than an hour till the end of the cycle now. In spite of himself, Boone's belly tightened. Turning at the first intersection, he headed for the carrier station. The IC flight was already on the line and waiting. He found a seat next to a dour-faced tech whose eye-whites showed green with mekronal infusion. * * * * * The carrier wheeled slowly forward into the lock that sealed off Gandor City's precious, bubble-pressured air supply from the bleak world outside. A moment later the lock's outer hatch opened. Climbing on its anti-gravitational beam--slowly, at first; then faster and faster--the carrier lanced out across the star-spangled black velvet of the Ganymedan sky. The minutes dragged. Crags and peaks came and went below; then the dull grey wash of a cliff-bound sea of liquid gas. Off to the left, the sky took on a scarlet-purple tint, reflection of Jupiter's great Red Spot. Down again, then. Down through another hatch, into another lock. Its inner seal opened. The carrier swept into the bubble proper, settling onto the clean-swept ramp with its glaring forspark lights and the sign that said: INTERPLANETARY CARTELS UNLIMITED MEKRONAL PROCESSING DIVISION GANYMEDAN ADVANCE BASE Boone passed through the scanner unit; bared his ID plate for the guard. "Back early, aren't you, Mister Boone?" The guard grinned. "Guess it makes a difference when you go alone. Though I will say that new job's a nice break for Miss Rey." Boone nodded, not speaking. "She goes out tonight, doesn't she?" The guard's face grew sober. "Hope she makes it o.k. That Titan run is no picnic--not with this monster business hitting half the ships. Bucking that kind of thing ain't my idea of a woman's job, no matter how high it rates nor how much it pays." "She'll make it, all right." "Sure." The guard's eyes shifted away from Boone's. "Sure, Mister Boone. She'll make it." Boone passed on. Inside the personnel compound, he looked at his chronox again. Only half an hour now till Eileen was scheduled to grav-off. Barely time for the job he had to do....