"Good luck!" Boone answered with a wordless salute and, turning, strode from the office and the building. He still felt a little dazed. How could it all have worked out so perfectly and so simply? Only then, suddenly, a man appeared out of a doorway, hurrying in Boone's direction with head down--almost running. Too late, Boone tried to sidestep. The man crashed into him and they both reeled, clinging to each other for support. The next instant, hands gripped Boone from behind. A hard, unseen something rammed against his backbone. "Don't move, Boone!" clipped a tight, familiar voice. Boone stiffened. "Krobis--!" "Correct." The thing against Boone's back withdrew. Krobis stepped round into view, nerve-gun in hand, leaving his aides to hold the prisoner. His black eyes glittered. "For the record, you're under Cartel arrest again, in accordance with IC regulations." Boone held his voice flat. "I can't stop you, Krobis. But when trial-time comes, the Federation may not think much of this." "You think not?" The Ganymedan base director smirked, and took a stand with too-short legs wide-spraddled. "Personally, I'm more inclined to believe they'll cite me for a commendation--once they've heard my recording of your little talk with Terral!" For the fraction of a second, Boone stopped breathing. His lips were all at once so stiff he couldn't speak. "That hit you, eh?" sneered Krobis. "You should have been more careful. All I was interested in to start was finding out who pressured through that release order for you. I didn't guess you had ties to the Independents, or that you planned to run out. But I'm glad you tried it. The recording makes your conviction certain, and puts us where we can jump the gun on Terral. "Meanwhile, you stay where you belong--in IC's own Thelema guardhouse!" CHAPTER V Boone waited till the guard had left the cell-block to let in the group scheduled to conduct the preliminary inquiry. Then, with one last look out across the darkening ramp to where the Independent sphere-ship lay interned, he climbed onto the bunk, looped the end of the torn cloth noose up through the ventilator grating, twisted his collar still more awry, and stepped off into space. The noose cut his neck, but not too badly. Most of his weight hung from the extra loop he'd run under his arms and round his chest. Yet the turned-up collar made it look like he was truly hanging by his neck alone. There was a drone of voices from the hallway. Words drifted to him as the speakers paused outside the locked door. "It's all set up," came the clipped tones of Martin Krobis. "We'll push through the special session of the board tonight, with a quick decision in favor of disciplinary discharge from Cartel service. The Federation court can hear the criminal case next cycle. By the end of the week he'll be on his way to Venus barracks." Someone laughed raucously. A third voice crowed, "Leave it to Krobis!"