"Sho shorry," said Charlie. Flip felt in his shirt pocket for a cigarette and found the ill-starred map which had brought him here. The lines were blurred with sweat but he could still make out the circle designating the mainland port, the crow's feet designating the swamp, the large X in the upper left where the xanite was. He didn't need the map any more; for the location was stark in his mind. In fact he wished he could forget it. "Ah, well," he said. He opened the tube-light, held the map over the hissing jet. It turned brown, then black and he crumbled the ashes in his fingers. "I sometimes wonder what'll happen to me next...." He heard something above the wind at the door; probably a stray veedle, one of the mud-mice which infested the swamp. Then he noticed Charlie's eyes. They were very big and slowly his mouth fell open. He's gone _loku_ loco, thought Flip. Charlie was staring past him, over his shoulder. Flip whirled around. A woman stood in the door. Flip dropped his glass. Behind the woman stood three men. The woman said something in Venusian. Flip couldn't understand and there was a dumb pause as he stared with eyes that grew wider. The woman wore hip-high swamp boots, two guns on her belt, a filmy shirt open at the throat. Her hair, uncovered and flowing, was golden, vaporous as the mist. Flip heard Charlie replying in the native language. The woman stepped into the room. Eyes flicking into every corner, the three men followed her. In the hand of each was an .03 pistol. She halted before them and Flip rose from his chair like a ghost. Charlie sat very still. His face was pale, eyes narrow. "Sit down." It was a command and Flip sank back down helplessly. In his amazement he'd probably have done anything she said. She spoke English, in the liquid tones of a native. And she was Venusian, in all its ancient connotation. Her eyes met Flip's evenly, calmly. Her eyes were emerald green. "You are Flip Miller," she said. "You have a map. Give it to me." She held out her hand, as if refusal to her easy words was unthinkable. Flip found his voice. "Who--?" he began. Her eyes were cold, commanding; his ego rebelled and he stood up quickly. With a swift hand, one of the men pushed him back down. Flip came up again with fists balled. A pistol was jabbed in his side. "Jupiter's jumpers!" cried Flip. "What is this?" "Captain Vixen...." breathed Charlie. * * * * * The .03 gun was persuasive and Flip sat down. The man was huge, ugly with a welted blue scar across his cheek. He stepped back and stood with feet wide apart, the gun pointed at Flip's chest. Another stationed himself at the door, the other stood behind Charlie. The woman leaned against the table, crossed her legs.