"Fine." The officer stepped aside to let Julie pass first through the door. "Let's have a couple of beers with the Major, Ed. Is there time?" Hall frowned at his watch. "I suppose. And we can settle a couple of the whens and wherefores of the project." They left the Science building together, walked down the worn stone steps and out onto the rather neglected-looking June campus. "There's a student beer hall about a block from here," said Julie. "Will that do, Major?" "Umm?" Hall was eyeing the rolling black sky. "Oh, yes--fine. Hope it's not going to storm. My flight'll be scratched and I've got to be in Washington by five at the latest." The first big drops came spattering down. "Damn! Left my raincoat in the staff car." The three hurried past a blighted, moss-grown statue of a wounded Confederate soldier saluting General Lee in full uniform. * * * * * When the first tug of intelligence registered, the Irritant was sleeping restlessly. The second brought him out of troubled dreams. At the third he hauled in. Nothing--nothing but a jumbled scattering of low-order babble and memories and impressions. Not enough for a meal. Angrily, he examined the trashy catch--three minor intelligence--mental pictures of a crude something that stored, then propelled bits of metal forward--and.... The Irritant took more careful note--A weave of thoughts about some other intelligence called johnsingletonmosby. And close at hand too. Just a few moves to the side, then around. The Irritant patiently fashioned a new bait--a summary of the concepts concerning the metallic object--the tube attached so to the middle attached so to the rest, then filled with that which coiled and slid and turned. Might be just the lure. Done! Now ... the quarry should be about ... here! Out went the bait into space-time. * * * * * The ordnance sergeant, Jake Lavender, looked up from the Sharps carbine he was repairing. "Huh?" There was no reply. Frowning he took an oily rag and began wiping the bolt he had filed into a better fit. Sure as thunder someone had called out the captain's name. Or whispered it, more like. His gaze darted about the littered barn loft--boxes of ammunition, two saddles, piles of stolen rifles and an empty bunk. No room for anyone to hide. Sergeant Lavender vigorously renewed his wiping. ... johnsingletonmosby.... "By God!" He snatched up a loaded pistol and rose. That voice had been as close as his skin. "Show yourself," he bawled. At the far end of the loft a door creaked open and a short slender man, pistol in each hand, came out blinking sleepily. "What in blazes is the matter with you, Jake?"