"I'm glad you brought that up," said Heller. "Remember that fellow Gris I tried to deliver to the Royal prison?"

"I know. The papers are screaming about him."

"Well, listen," said Heller. "Coming in, I heard a news bulletin that he was being brought to trial. Apparently he's even going to have some attorneys defending him. Do you recall those boxes of papers I sent you?"

"The Gris blackmail file on the Apparatus?"

"Right. I want you to hand those over to his attorneys."

"WHAT?" Bis stared at him. "But they'd use those to try to get him off."

"Possibly. But it sure would upset a lot of people in the Apparatus."

Suddenly Bis barked a laugh. "You know, I think it would. I'll do it. But listen, Jet, you've got to get out of here. They have this place watched."

"Oh, I'm leaving very shortly," said Heller. "Just as soon as you get me a mustard-colored Apparatus officer's uniform and an Apparatus airbus."

"WHAT?"

"Don't tell me Fleet Intelligence hasn't collected some to use in espionage on another service."

Bis held his face in his hands. "Now I know why a combat engineer has such short life expectancy. What are you going to do?"

"The less you know about that, the less you can tell the torturers. Get me a false identoplate along with it. You've got lots of time. Shall we say fifteen minutes at the back door?"

Bis stared at him numbly.

Two hours later, Heller landed the Apparatus-marked airbus on the landing target at Camp Kill. The rain had not reached over the mountains into the Great Desert but the airbus bore signs of it: it was suspiciously clean for an Apparatus vehicle.

The guard officer came into the glaring target lights. He looked at the smudgy identoplate that said "Captain Fal."

"I won't be here long," said Heller. "I've come to pay a gambling debt to Captain Snelz."

"Pickings in town must be good lately," said the guard officer.

"Couldn't be better," said Heller.

"Thanks for the tip that he'll have money. He's in those dugouts back under the hill."

Heller got out. He was wearing big sand goggles. He walked at a leisurely pace through the dusty, cluttered camp.

A sentry stood outside a dugout door. Before he could challenge, Heller yelled, "Hey, Snelz, you got any thudder dice for sale?"

There was an instant flurry inside. Then a white face, just a blur in the night, peered out of the low dug-out entrance.

Heller walked boldly past the sentry and entered.

In a hoarse whisper, Snelz said, "My Gods, Jet! Don't you know there's a general warrant out for your arrest?"

"You know," said Heller, in a loud voice, "if people keep telling me, sooner or later I'll believe it."

Snelz shuddered. He turned and made a gesture at a prostitute who lay naked on a far bunk. She grabbed her clothes and scuttled out.

Snelz was tucking his shirt in his pants and trying to drop the door curtain at the same time.

"Heller," he said, "you're crazy."

"No, I'm thirsty."

Snelz, both his shirt collar and his hair standing up, tried to find something that hadn't been emptied in the debris on the table and, after upsetting several bottles and canisters, got some sparklewater poured. Heller sat down and sipped it.

The ex-Fleet marine sat nervously across from him. "Jet, there's a whisper out that Hisst will pay a hundred thousand credits cash for clues as to where you are."

"Cheap," said Heller. "The man always was cheap."

"Why are you HERE of all places?"

Heller reached into his Apparatus tunic and pulled out an envelope. He laid it before Snelz. "This," he said, "has got to be delivered to Lombar Hisst."

"I haven't got access to him," said Snelz. "I'm only a captain."

"Well, I wouldn't think it would be healthy to give it to him," said Heller. "If he received it and those seals were disturbed, my guess is that he would very likely execute the bearer just to be sure his mouth stayed shut."

Snelz looked at the outer cover. It said:

TO LOMBAR HISST

FROM JETTERO HELLER

Private. Personal. Secret.

Snelz's hand began to shake. "This could get me killed just looking at it! Heart failure!"

Heller laid down a five-hundred-credit note. "Just so you don't feel too bad being deprived of that hundred thousand."

Snelz was shocked. "I wouldn't ever turn you in. You're my friend! You don't have to pay me anything either!"

"Well, I told the landing guard officer I was here to pay a gambling debt, so he'll be on to you for drinks, so I don't want this to cost you anything personally. Now think, do you know of a way to get this into Hisst's hand?"

Snelz thought about it. Then he suddenly smiled brightly. "Yes, I think I can do that. And without a hitch."

"It's very important that he get it. No slips."

"No slips," said Snelz.

"Good," said Heller. "That completes my business. Would you like to indulge in a few passes with the dice?"

"Oh, Jet, please to the Gods, get out of here. You have both our bodies halfway down into that chasm right this minute. Don't you realize that Hisst comes to the tower office up there almost every day? He might be in this camp right now!"

"Then it will be very easy to get the message to him, won't it?" said Heller. "Well, you seem to have lost your gambling fever, so I guess I'll run along. I'll stop by the canteen...."

"Jet," said Snelz in a tight and urgent voice, "you get... get out of here. Honest, my heart won't start again until you've left this camp!"

"The day you're that scared, Snelz," laughed Heller, "that will be the day. Come on and walk with me to the canteen."

Snelz convulsively was climbing into his uniform tunic.

Firmly but carefully looking very casual, he walked Heller straight back to the landing target area and got him into his airbus.

Heller took off.

Two hours later, at Emergency Fleet Reserve, Heller complimented old Atty for restocking the tug, shook hands with a worried Commander Crup and, exhibiting the ship identoplate of the cruiser Happy Return, was spaceward ho for Calabar.

One cannot help but wonder, dear reader, what the course of history might have been if Captain Snelz had not thought of the man he did when asked to design a way to get the message into Lombar's hands. If he had only told Heller the name that had popped into his mind, the fate of Earth might well have been quite dif­ferent.

For the man Snelz had thought of was J. Walter Madison!

As he stood on the landing target watching Heller's airbus leave, Snelz was putting through his mind exactly how to do this.

Lately Lombar Hisst had been coming to Spiteos almost every day for a brief period, usually in the morn­ing. He was doing something strange down in the storerooms with that weird powder. Snelz himself had escorted in several truckloads of strange things marked Lactose, Epsom Salts, Quinine, Baking Powder, Photo Developer, Insecticide and Strychnine. Hisst had several technicians who would take something called amphetamine out of its original capsules, mix the powder with these other things and then, using new capsules, expand the original batch enormously. According to one of the technicians, Hisst seemed to take a lot of pleasure in this strange exercise: he called it "cutting" and seemed to think nobody else could do it as expertly as he.

And Snelz had noted that the Earthman Madison was never kept informed as to where he could find Hisst: that was no real mystery, as Hisst always had the idea that anywhere he went, an assassin would be waiting for him. So, at odd times of the day or night, Madison would show up at Spiteos.

It had become so well known now that Madison was a close creature of Hisst that Madison could come and go as he pleased. The very distinctive Model 99 with its four flying angels was never even challenged in the air. Once landed, Madison had carte blanche. He needed no escort, he didn't even show his plate, he simply trotted over to the zipbuses, went through the tunnel, up the elevator and into the north tower. Often, nowadays, there weren't even clerks up there.