To no avail. There was no sign of anyone in either room. "Get this, now, Thigpen. Get it the first time." Slowly, Ross turned, searching. The thing lay on a table close at hand--one of those silvery spheres known as memory balls, a tiny, self-contained speaker unit only slightly larger than a marble yet still capable of repeating once any brief statement made in its immediate vicinity. Cheng's voice again: "A man runs a woman into his place in a space-sack, he likes her some, Thigpen. That's the way I see it." Ross dug his nails into the table. "Call her a hostage if you want to, Thigpen. Because she don't come back till I get the formula for that life catalyst stuff you took off old Tornelescu." Ross' eyes seemed to draw deeper into his skull, his head to sink farther down between his shoulders. "Of course, if you're the kind of chitza don't give a filan how long it takes the wench to die, that won't mean nothing to you." Ross stood as if carved in granite. "Maybe you _do_ like her, though." Cheng chuckled maliciously. "Well, then, that makes it simple: you just hang around awhile at a place they call Naraki's. It's down in the old port quarter." A fragmentary pause. "You got that, Thigpen? You just stick at Naraki's kabat-dive till somebody comes and gets you. "Otherwise--no more Veta Hall!" The memory ball clicked off. CHAPTER IV THE GULFERS Ross carried it clear to Commandant Padora, at FedGov Security headquarters. At that level, the conversation didn't last long. "And just what is your mission, Mr. Ross?" The commandant's voice rang chill, even through the com-set. Ross ran his tongue along dry lips. "To recover Doctor Tornelescu's notes and formulae pertaining to the life catalyst at the earliest possible moment, sir." "To the best of your knowledge and belief, does Cheng hold those papers?" "No, sir." "Does the Hall girl?" "No, sir." "Do either of them know what's become of the batch of prepared catalyst allegedly taken from Tornelescu's laboratory?" "Not so far as I know, sir." "The situation seems clear enough to me, then." Commandant Padora's tongue bore a scalpel edge. "You hold the rank of special agent in this organization, Mr. Ross. That entails a certain obligation. Among other things, it means that when you're assigned a mission, you carry it out, without quixotic sidetrips to rescue maidens in distress." Ross flushed even in the darkness of the com-booth. "Yes, sir." "To save time for both of us, then, I suggest that from now on you remember you're masquerading under the name and in the garb of Lewis Thigpen for one purpose only: to decoy Tornelescu's killer out of hiding." "Yes, sir." "Then get on with it! That's an order!" Ross swore beneath his breath as the line went dead. Savagely, he dialed another number. A brisk male voice: "FedGov Building Seven." "Get me Pike Mawson's office."