That done, Ross straightened. Almost casually, he strolled to the front of the warehouse, tugging at the bak's ventral plates as he walked, so that the creature gave out a steady stream of contented sighs and hisses. Ahead, Triangle Square spread out before Ross. With seeming unconcern, he glanced right and left. Still no one in sight. * * * * * Shifting the rock Veta had picked up for him to his right hand, Ross paused long enough to work the bak into a comfortable position. With cool deliberation, then, he stepped back and hurled the rock with full force at the nearest of the two warehouse windows. A crash. The window shattered. Ducking close, Ross kicked away the shards along the sill. A quick, wary step, and he was over it and inside the warehouse office ... fading back into the nearest corner. Somewhere close at hand, a latch clicked. A black oblong opened in the wall across the room. Ross went down on his haunches. Deftly, he slid the bak out away from him, along the floor. Six-plate-rimmed feet made small, slithering sounds as the creature darted through the darkness. Like lightning, over by the black oblong, a paragun whished faintly as the purple beam leaped from its muzzle. Swift, silent, Ross crept along the wall in a flanking movement. Simultaneously, off to one side, the bak ran wide in sudden panic. Again, the paragun spoke. But the marksman was shooting at his visualization of a man, not an underslung, six-legged, alley bak. As before, the shot went far high. This time, though, Ross was closer. Coming up fast to full height, he leaped in, grappling for the weapon. The edge of his right hand came down on the other's gun-wrist with smashing force. The blow tore a choked cry from his opponent's throat. The paragun clattered to the floor. Before Ross could leap in, the other whirled and fled. Snatching up the paragun, Ross followed. Down a broad corridor and past a brightly-lighted room they ran; then on into utter darkness. When a crash of jangling metal echoed ahead, Ross fired at it. A body fell with a sodden thud. Cat-silent, paragun at the ready, Ross ran toward the sound. He tripped and almost fell across his adversary in the darkness ... a dead adversary, now. Not quite steadily, Ross flicked on his flamer ... stared down into the other's face. It was the man who'd been at Zoltan Prenzz' place; the man who'd later tried to run him down as he headed for Naraki's. A check of the man's pockets revealed nothing whatever of importance. Bleakly, Ross turned him over. The move threw the flamer's light onto the stacked cases beside which the dead man lay. Ross took one look. His hand jerked back by sheer reflex. Hastily, he snapped shut the flamer's lid. His victim had died resting against row after row of fifty-gallon plastidrums of deadly, hair-trigger steron auxiliary flare-fuel, designed for use in atmospheres where nothing else would burn!