Mayhem called Neptune, and said: "Bartock crash-landed on Pluto, geographical coordinates north latitude thirty-three degrees four minutes, west longitude eighteen degrees even. I'm going down. That's all." He didn't wait for an answer. He brought the space-bound coffin down a scant three miles from _Mozart's Lady_. Here, though, the tundra of Pluto was buckled and convoluted, so that two low jagged ranges of snow-clad hills separated the ships. Again Mayhem didn't wait. He went outside, took a breath of near-freezing air, and stalked up the first range of hills. He carried a blaster buckled to his belt. * * * * * When he saw the scout-ship come down, Bartock didn't wait either. He might have waited had he known anything about what Pluto did to the time-sense. But he did not know. He only knew, after a quick inspection, that the controls of _Mozart's Lady_ had been so badly damaged that repair was impossible. He knew too that the scout-ship had reported his whereabouts. He had, on regaining consciousness, been in time to intercept the radio message. True, it would take any other Neptune-stationed ship close to two weeks to reach Pluto, so Bartock had some temporal leeway. But obviously whoever was pursuing him in the one-man ship had not come down just to sit and wait. He was out there in the snow somewhere. Well, Bartock would go out too, would somehow manage to elude his pursuer, to get behind him, reach the scout-ship and blast off in it. And, in the event that anything went wrong, he would have a hostage. He went arearships to select one. Went with his desperation shackled by an iron nerve. And a blaster in his hand. "... very lucky," Matilda Moriarity was saying, trying to keep the despair from her voice. "We have some cuts and bruises, but no serious casualties. Why, we might have all been killed." "Lucky, she says! We're marooned here. Marooned--with a killer." Before the widow Moriarity could defend her choice of words, if she was going to defend them, House Bartock came into the rear lounge, where the entire symphony and its chaperone was located. They would have locked the door, of course; they had locked it ever since they had learned who Bartock was. But the door, buckled and broken, had been one of the casualties of the crash-landing. "You," Bartock said. He meant Jane Cummings. "Me?" "Yes, you. We're going outside." "Out--side?" "That's what I said. Let's get a move on." Jane Cummings didn't move. The widow Moriarity came between her and Bartock. "If you must take anyone, take me," she said bravely. "The girl." Still the widow Moriarity didn't move. House Bartock balled his fist and hit her. Three of the girls caught her as she fell. None of them tried to do anything about Bartock, who had levelled his blaster at Jane Cummings. Trembling, she went down the companionway with him. A fierce cold wind blew as they opened the airlock door.