"It was a foolish thing for me to send for you, Mr. Thigpen. I realized that almost as soon as Cheng's ship was out of sight. But by then, it was too late to try to stop him, so all I have left to fall back on now are apologies." "Apologies?" Ross clipped. "It seems to me there's a small matter of damages, also." "Of course, Mr. Thigpen!" Mawson was almost too eager. "Would fifty thousand satisfy you?" "Fifty thousand--!" "It's done, then. That is, if you have a writer you can lend me." Wordless, Ross handed the adjudicator the slim tube; received it back again with a signed form. "Now we'll take you on into the city and find you quarters," Mawson chortled. "Come. There's a transor over on the edge of the ramping area." A woman's voice from the outer darkness said, "Surely you'll not let him go before you introduce us, Pike." Her tone was syrupy, with shadings of coy reproach. "No, of course not." Mawson's pale face grew unhappy. "Mr. Thigpen, allow me to present the most famous woman of our time: the one and only Astrell." Already the woman was coming from the shadows, an auburn-haired vision of utter loveliness. Only then the full force of the light struck her, and the illusion died beneath the bitter onslaught of too many years. Astrell seemed to sense it. Hastily, she drew back into the fringe of friendly shadows. "I won't hold you now, Mr. Thigpen; I know you must be tired. But I promise, I'll see you another time." "The transor, Mr. Thigpen--" Mawson began. Ross said, "First, I'd like to speak for a moment to Miss Hall." "Miss Hall? Miss Hall--?" "The girl you sent with Cheng." "Oh. Veta." The adjudicator's face grew even more unhappy. But he raised his voice: "Sanford! Sanford, where are you?" A shadow detached itself from the others ... a tall, gaunt shadow, this time. "Here, Pike." "Where's your sister, Sanford? Mr. Thigpen wants to see her." "My sister? Veta?" Sanford Hall sounded vague about it. "How would I know, Pike? I guess she must have slipped away." Without another word, he turned to go. But as he did so, the blazing lights focussed on the cruiser fell full into his eyes. Ross breathed in sharply: the glaze, the distortion of iris and of pupil--they could belong to no one save a starak addict in the last stages of his vice. "The transor, Mr. Thigpen--" Ross said, "Thanks, Adjudicator. This takes care of me nicely. I'll find my own quarters." Without waiting for response, he pressed the first button that came beneath his finger on the selector. The transor surged forward. Leaning back, Ross checked his pocket for the form Mawson had given him. _Two_ pieces of paper rattled in his fingers. Frowning, he drew them out. The first was Mawson's form. The second, a note-sheet, bore only a name and address: _Veta Hall, 417D Esrach Unit_. Ross' frown furrowed deeper. Refolding both papers, he thrust them back into his tunic. * * * * *