From the activity at the port, he could see that three ships were being made ready for blastoff. Two of them were purely cargo-carriers, but the third--Bartock could tell because he saw hand-luggage being loaded--would carry passengers. His instinct for survival must have been working overtime: he knew that the third ship would be his best bet, for if he were discovered and pursued, hostages might make the difference between recapture and freedom. Bartock waited patiently in the darkness outside the pilot-barracks. The only problem was, how to discover which pilot belonged to which ship? The cordon of police from Interstelpen had set up several score arc-lights on the perimeter of the field. The spaces between the lights were patrolled by guards armed, as Bartock was, with blasters. Bartock could never have made it through that cordon now. But it wasn't necessary. He was already inside. The barracks door opened, and a pilot came out. Tensing, ready, Bartock watched him. The three ships were scattered widely on the field, _Venus Bell_ to the north, _Star of Hercules_ to the south, _Mozart's Lady_ to the east. _Venus Bell_ and _Star of Hercules_ were straight cargo carriers. _Mozart's Lady_--what a queer name for a spaceship, Bartock couldn't help thinking--had taken in hand luggage. So if the pilot who had just left the barracks headed east, Bartock would take him. The pilot paused outside, lit a cigarette, hummed a tune. The scent of tobacco drifted over to Bartock. He waited. The pilot walked east toward _Mozart's Lady_. * * * * * "Ready, girls?" "Ready, Mrs. Moriarity. But couldn't we--well--sort of hang around until we see what happens?" "You mean the escaped convict?" "Yes, ma'am." Hopefully. "They'll catch him. They always catch them." "But--" "Come on." "Aw, gosh, Mrs. Moriarity." "I said, come on." Reluctantly, the hundred girls trooped with their chaperone from the hotel. * * * * * Bartock struck swiftly and without mercy. The blaster would make too much noise. He turned it around, held it by the barrel, and broke the pilot's skull with it. In the darkness he changed clothing for the second time that night, quickly, confidently, his hands steady. In the darkness he could barely make out the pilot's manifest. The man's ship was _Mozart's Lady_, all right. Outbound from Triton City for Mars. Well, Bartock thought, he wouldn't go to Mars. Assuming they learned what ship he had boarded, they would be guarding the inner orbits too closely.