"I know the Council on Earth better than that. You do, too."

But the grumbling Venusian went on. "Anyway, three weeks ago, this man Evans asked to see some of the classified data concerning yeast-strain growth. The men in the industry objected."

"Objected?" said Lucky. "It was a councilman's request."

"True, but yeast-strain men are secretive. You don't make requests like that. Even councilmen don't. They asked Evans why he wanted the information. He refused to tell them. They forwarded his request to me, and I quashed it."

"On what grounds?" demanded Lucky.

"He wouldn't tell me his reasons either, and while I'm senior councilman on Venus, nobody in my organization will have secrets from me. But your friend Lou Evans then did something I had not expected. He stole the data. He used his position as councilman to get inside a restricted area in the yeast-research plants, and he left with microfilms inside his boot."

"Surely he had a good reason."

"He did," said Morriss, "he did. The microfilms dealt with the nutrient formulas required for the nourishment of a new and very tricky strain of yeast. Two days later a workman making up one component of that mixture introduced a trace of mercury salt. The yeast died, and six months' work was ruined. The workman swore he'd done no such thing, but he had. Our psychiatrists psychoprobed him. By now, you see, we had a pretty good notion of what to expect. He'd had a blackout period. The enemy still hasn't stolen the strain of yeast, but they're getting closer. Right?"

Lucky's brown eyes were hard. "I can see the obvious theory. Lou Evans had deserted to the enemy, whoever he is."

"Sirians," blurted Morriss. "I'm sure of it."

"Maybe," admitted Lucky. The inhabitants of the planets of Sirius had, for centuries now, been Earth's most fervent enemies. It was easy to blame them. "Maybe. Lou Evans deserted to them, let us say, and agreed to get data for them that would enable them to start trouble inside the yeast factories. Little, troubles at first, which would pave the way for larger troubles."

"Yes, that's my theory. Can you propose any other? "Couldn't Councilman Evans himself be under mental domination?"

"Not likely, Lucky. We have many cases in our files now. No one who has suffered from mental domination has blacked out for longer than half an hour, and all gave clear indication under the psychoprobe of periods of total amnesia. Evans would have had to be under mental domination for two days to have done what he did, and he gave no signs of amnesia."

"He was examined?"

"He certainly was. When a man is found with classified material in his possession-caught in the act, as it were-steps have to be taken. I wouldn't care if he were a hundred times a councilman. He was examined, and I, personally, put him on probation. When he broke it to send some message on his own equipment, we tapped his scrambler and made sure he'd do it no more-or, at least, not without our intercepting whatever he sent or received. The message he sent you was his last. We're through playing with him. He's under confinement now. I'm preparing my report for central headquarters, a thing I should have done before this, and I'm requesting his removal from office and trial for corruption, or, perhaps, for treason."

"Before you do that…" said Lucky.

"Yes?"

"Let me speak to him."

Morriss rose, smiling ironically. "You wish to? Certainly. I'll take you to him. He's in this building. In fact, I'd like to have you hear his defense."

They passed up a ramp, quiet guards snapping to attention and saluting.

Bigman stared at them curiously. "Is this a prison or what?"

"It's a kind of prison on these levels," said Morriss. "We make buildings serve many purposes on Venus."

They stepped into a small room, and suddenly, quite without warning, Bigman burst into loud laughter.

Lucky, unable to repress a smile, said, "What's the matter, Bigman?"

"No-nothing much," panted the little fellow, his eyes moist. "It's just that you look so funny, Lucky, standing there with your bare upper lip hanging out. After all those mustaches I've been watching, you look deformed. You look as though someone had taken a whiffgun and blown off the mustache you should have had."

Morriss smiled at that and brushed his own grizzled mustache with the back of his hand, self-consciously and a little proudly.

Lucky's smile expanded. "Funny," he said, "I was thinking exactly the same about you, Bigman."

Morriss said, "We'll wait here. They're bringing Evans now." His finger moved away from a small pushbutton signal.

Lucky looked about the room. It was smaller than Morriss's own room, more impersonal. Its only furniture consisted of several upholstered chairs plus a sofa, a low table in the center of the room, and two higher tables near the false windows. Behind each of the false windows was a cleverly done seascape. On one of the two high tables was an aquarium; on the other, two dishes, one containing small dried peas and the other, a black, greasy substance.

Bigman's eyes automatically started following Lucky's about the room.

He said, suddenly, "Say, Lucky, what's this?

He half-ran to the aquarium, bending low, peering into its depths. "Look at it, will you?"

"It's just one of the pet V-frogs the men keep about here," said Morriss. "It's a rather good specimen. Haven't you ever seen one?"

"No," said Lucky. He joined Bigman at the aquarium, which was two feet square and about three feet deep. The water in it was criss-crossed with feathery fronds of weed.

Bigman said, "It doesn't bite or anything, does it?" He was stirring the water with a forefinger and bending close to peer inside.

Lucky's head came down next to Bigman's. The V-frog stared back at them solemnly. It was a little creature, perhaps eight inches long, with a triangular head into which two bulging black eyes were set. It rested on six little padded feet drawn up close to its body. Each foot had three long toes in front and one behind. Its skin was green and froglike, and there were frilly fins, which vibrated rapidly, running down the center line of its back. In place of a mouth it had a beak, strong, curved and parrotlike.

As Lucky and Bigman watched, the V-frog started rising in the water. Its feet remained on the floor of the aquarium, but its legs stretched out like extendible stilts, as its numerous leg joints straightened. It stopped rising just as its head was about to pierce the surface.

Morriss, who had joined them and was staring fondly at the little beast, said, "It doesn't like to get out of the water. Too much oxygen in the air. They enjoy oxygen, but only in moderation. They're mild, pleasant little things."

Bigman was delighted. There was virtually no native animal life on Mars, and living creatures of this sort were a real novelty to him.

"Where do they live?" he asked.

Morriss put a finger down into the water and stroked the V-frog's head. The V-frog permitted it, closing its dark eyes in spasmodic motions that might have meant delight, for all they could guess.

Morriss said, "They congregate in the seaweed in fairly large numbers. They move around in it as though it were a forest. Their long toes can hold individual stems, and their beaks can tear the toughest fronds. They could probably make a mean dent in a man's finger, but I've never known one of them to bite. I'm amazed you haven't seen one yet. The hotel has a whole collection of them, real family groups, on display. You haven't seen it?"

"We've scarcely had the chance," said Lucky dryly.

Bigman stepped quickly to the other table, picked up a pea, dipped it into the black grease, and brought it back. He held it out temptingly, and with infinite care the V-frog's beak thrust out of the water and took the morsel from Bigman's fingers. Bigman crowed his delight;