The Martian sniffed. "Frankly, Mr. Murdock, your account of yourself is laconic to say the least."

Gavin Murdock grunted, his eyes wary and unblinking. He didn't reply.

The Martian raised his eyes from the documents spread on his glassite desk. He gave the sandy-haired Murdock a shrewd penetrating glance and smiled dryly.

"Of course, we get very few men in the slave trade who care to talk about themselves. We take that into consideration, Mr. Murdock. But an astro-engineer of your talents...." He glanced again at the papers on his desk.

Murdock's pulse hammered suddenly in his throat. He swallowed dryly, but he still didn't interrupt.

"This discharge," the Martian went on. "I see you were employed as first assistant-engineer on the luxury liner Cosmos. That's United Spaceway's crack ship. Would you care to tell me, Mr. Murdock, what persuaded you to apply for this post on the Nova?"

"Blacklisted," Mr. Murdock said succinctly. "Belted the old man in the nose. I've been on the beach here in Venusport ever since. None of the shipping lines'll touch me." He lapsed into silence again.

The Martian drummed long white fingers on the desk top.

"You realize, Mr. Murdock, that when you sign the Nova's articles you forfeit your citizenship on Terra? The Earth Congress issued a proclamation to the effect that any Terran employed in the slave trade...."

"What d'you expect me to do?" Murdock interrupted with a wry expression. He was a tall angular man in his early thirties. "Rot here on Venus? I'm not thrilled at taking a third's rating aboard a Jovian slaver. But it's a job."

The Martian still hesitated, doubt registering on his paper-white, sharply-chiseled features.

At length he said, "Very well," in a dry tone. "You'll have to go to the Commissioner's and sign the articles this afternoon. The Nova sails tomorrow. I'll give you your orders in writing."

But he made no move to do so.

Gavin Murdock stiffened imperceptibly, an alarm pealing in his brain. The Martian, he sensed, was stalling. For what?

The space patrols, Murdock knew, had been making things plenty hot for the slavers. The Empire had outlawed the slave trade three years ago. Her spacers were stamping out the traffic in Jovian Dawn Men which flowed between Jupiter and Venus where slavery was still legalized. Decadent the Empire might be, but she still controlled space. Any slaver caught with his half-human cattle beyond Venus' thousand mile limit was treated as a pirate.

The Martian was saying, "You understand, Mr. Murdock, there's no regular salary connected with this job, but as third assistant-engineer you'll be entitled to a one-twentieth share of the profits of each voyage."

Gavin nodded. His glance flicked about the blank walls. He felt suddenly like an animal in a trap.

The offices of Josiah Cabot, slaver, of whom the Martian was the business representative in Venusport, were on the eighty-seventh floor, well up in the swirling cloud blanket which sheathed the second planet like a glove. The offices were windowless and sound-proof. With an effort, Gavin put down the panic rising in his throat. It was ridiculous to think they could do anything to him in a modern office building here in Venusport.

A buzzer on the desk whirred. The Martian leaned forward and snapped a switch. A girl's voice said, "There's a call for you on the televisor, Mr. Trev. It's the—"

"Switch it to the radiophone," the Martian interrupted. He picked up the phone. "Trev speaking."

Gavin could hear the metallic rattle of a voice in the old fashioned instrument.

Trev said, "Yes ... yes ... thank you," at intervals, and hung up. His black eyes were inscrutable. He turned back to Gavin, saying, "I've been waiting for that call, Mr. Murdock."

He brought his hand into sight above the desk. Gavin Murdock found himself staring into the muzzle of a wicked poisoned-needle automatic!

"Clasp your hands behind your neck, Mr. Murdock. That was United Spaceways. They have no record of your ever having been employed by them. That was a very foolish lie, Mr. Murdock. Please submit yourself to a search."

Gavin drew a long breath. "You can save yourself the trouble. The discharge is forged. I haven't had a ship in three years."

"Stand up."

Gavin unfolded himself awkwardly and rose to his full six feet, two inches. He was clad in plain gray shorts and blouse. A Terran of Scotch-American descent, his face was thin, hollow-cheeked, freckled. His sandy hair had been close-cropped in the military fashion. His pale blue eyes were as bright and restless as a hawk's. He had a thin, arched nose, a tight-lipped mouth and a square jaw. He made no attempt to protest further.

The Martian came around the desk to approach Gavin from behind and jam the needle gun against his back. "Don't move!"

"Hell," said Gavin, "I'm not even breathing."

He heard the panel, which led into the outer office, squeak as it was slid back. A new voice asked, "What's the trouble, Trev?" It was a cold, clipped voice, yet the words were strangely blurred.

Gavin could feel his palms grow damp against the back of his neck. He wanted to whip around, but the Martian still had the dart-gun clamped against his spine.

Trev said, "No trouble, Captain Cabot."

Gavin turned his head slowly in the direction of the voice. He saw a tall man with a lean wolfish face. The man, in handsome black shorts, was standing in the doorway to the outer office, one hand braced against the frame. Just behind the man, peering wide-eyed over his shoulder, was a girl.

"Don't allow us to disturb you," said the man and, waving his companion inside, closed the door. He came stiffly, a little unsteadily, around in front and seated himself in Trev's chair. He was drunk, Gavin realized, drunk as a lord. The girl stood against the wall.

"Not at all, Captain Cabot," said Trev to the newcomer, in a faintly sarcastic voice. "After all it's for your own protection." He patted Gavin's chest, found a small flat dart-gun no larger than a deck of cards. It was secured in a delicate spring clip—strapped beneath his left arm.

"Lethal toy for a legitimate spaceman to be carting around," observed the Martian. "Hand tailored, isn't it?"

When Gavin didn't reply, he added, "He's wearing a plastic dart-proof vest too."

The Captain frowned. "What's the trouble, Trev?"

Trev said, "Mr. Murdock, here, applied for the job as third assistant-engineer on your ship with a forged discharge from United Spaceways. United Spaceways never heard of him."

"Hmmm," said Cabot.

The Martian's long questing fingers continued the search. He discovered Gavin's money belt, unbuckled it, tossed it to the Captain.

"Who do you think he is?" asked Cabot in that faintly blurred voice.

"I don't know," replied Trev. "Take a look in his money belt."

The Captain, frowning in concentration, unzipped the pockets with painful care. They held four hundred interplanetary credits, but that was all.

Without commenting, Trev began to turn Gavin's pockets inside out, bringing to light coins, cigarettes and a lighter.

"What are these?" The Martian came around in front again. He threw a pair of brass knuckles to the desk top.

"Knucks," explained Gavin with a tight grin. "Antiques. But I've a fondness for 'em. Silent. Efficient."

Trev regarded them with distaste. The Captain, on the contrary, looked interested. Gavin couldn't see how the girl reacted as she was sitting almost out of his angle of vision.

The girl puzzled him. She was an unknown factor. He had never heard of her. Cabot, he had placed at once: Master of the Nova, which of all the slaveships was giving the Terran patrols the biggest headache. But the girl. Who was she? Where did she fit in the picture? She was a strikingly beautiful girl, that much he had seen in the momentary glance he had caught of her. Then she had moved out of his vision.

"Who are you?" the Martian asked Gavin bluntly.

"You've got my papers there on the desk. Only the discharge is faked."

"You said you hadn't had a ship in three years. Why?"

"The Commission suspended my license for a year."

"Why?"

Gavin could feel the sweat prickle his forehead. His hands clasped about the back of his neck grew clammy again. He drew a long breath. "Smuggling colonal into Terra. I was chief engineer aboard the Europa. She was one of Transplanet Lines' ships. I was lucky to get off with a suspension. But after the scandal I found I couldn't get a berth."

"So!" said the Martian.

Gavin heard the girl draw a sharp breath.

Captain Cabot leaned forward quickly from the waist, his narrow brown eyes boring into Gavin's.

Colonal was the most vicious drug known in the System. Extracted from a Ganymedian plant, it lifted its devotees into a special paradise for a few short years; then blind raving insanity inexorably followed its use. Transplanet Lines had been in reality a powerful ring of wholesale smugglers. Agents of the Terrestial Intelligence Service had finally smashed the ring. The company had ceased to exist; its high officials having been sent to prison, its ships and records confiscated.

"So," Trev repeated softly. There was a cat-like expression of triumph on his sharp pale features. "Then you and Miss Petrovna must have known each other. Miss Petrovna was third mate aboard the Galaxy, another of Transplanet's ships."

Gavin felt his stomach go hollow. He faced the girl, his hands still clasped grotesquely behind his neck, and forced himself to observe her coolly.

He saw a girl with skin almost as white as a Martian. Her lustrous black hair was combed back severely from a high white forehead, parted in the center, and done in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her long black eyes were half-hidden by thick black lashes. She was wearing white shorts and blouse, the universal daytime dress of Venus.

Gavin turned back to the Martian and said in a stony voice, "I sailed with Transplanet for seven years. I never heard of a Miss Petrovna!"

The girl bit her lip, brought her hand up to her high virginal breasts. The Martian looked puzzled. Captain Cabot frowned.

It was the girl who recovered first from Gavin's unexpected flank attack. She said easily to Gavin, "That's quite possible, Mr. Murdock. You were chief engineer of the Europa. That was Transplanet's finest ship. The Galaxy was only a tramp freighter, and I was just a green third mate." Her voice was low, husky. "But I remember you, Mr. Murdock." She gave an amused laugh. "In fact, I had a crush on you!"

Gavin Murdock's jaw dropped. He stared at the girl in utter astonishment, unable to believe his ears.

"Oh," said the girl, reading his disbelief in his gaunt, freckled features, "I wouldn't have dared put myself forward. I worshipped from afar. I was only eighteen, just out of school."

The Martian interrupted, "Sit down, Mr. Murdock." The lines of suspicion had faded from his forehead. "Sit down. You may drop your hands. What have you been doing since then?"

Gavin sank weakly into his chair. He didn't reply. Captain Cabot was regarding Miss Petrovna with an alert expression. The film of drunkenness, Gavin sensed, had been banished from the Captain's brain like a fog by a ray of sunlight.

The Martian said, "Never mind. It's not important. Once we're satisfied with a man, we don't delve too deeply into his activities. Here, you can have your gear back."

As Gavin stowed the articles in place, the Martian wrote out his pass and shoved it across the desk. "Take this to the Commissioners. It'll authorize you to sign the Nova's articles."

Gavin stood up, zipping the pass in his money belt. Captain Cabot got to his feet also and thrust out his hand. "Glad to have a man of your ability with us on the Nova, Murdock. Miss Petrovna is our third mate. You'll be on the same watch."

The Captain's tone was dry and formal, lacking cordiality. There was, Gavin sensed, no cordiality in the man. He was as devoid of emotion as a block of stone.

The girl said, "Nadia Petrovna's the name, Mr. Murdock." She too had stood up and now extended her hand. When Gavin took it, she smiled, exposing small brilliant white teeth. "The officers of the Nova are celebrating the sailing at the Temple of Joy tonight. You'll be there, won't you, Mr. Murdock?" There was a twinkle in her long black eyes. "We've a lot to talk over."

"I wouldn't miss it," Gavin assured her dryly.

When Gavin Murdock reached the street, he leaned weakly against the lichen-covered wall of the office building and blew out his breath. Still not trusting himself to think, he hailed a robot cab. As the taxi darted out into the traffic, he relaxed limply into the yielding flexoplas cushions.

It had been touch and go, he reflected, but in a few minutes he would be signing the Nova's articles before the Interplanetary Commissioner.

A grin lit his bony freckled face. With the girl vouching for him, the slavers would never be able to disprove his story. Transplanet was no longer in existence; its records were in the secret files of the Terrestial Intelligence Service.

He ought to know, he thought grimly; he, Gavin Murdock, was the T.I.S. agent who had broken the colonal smuggling ring.

Gavin chuckled. Nadia Petrovna's lie had been superb, especially that touch about having had a crush on him. That had been pure artistry. It had carried absolute conviction.

But why had she done it?

Gavin's amusement gave way to misgivings. He was a special agent of the T.I.S. He had been assigned to the Jovian slave trade for two reasons. He wasn't known on Venus or Jupiter. But, more important, he had been an astro-engineer on a Tri-World ship before joining the T.I.S.

He had never been employed by Transplanet, though. He didn't know Nadia Petrovna from Eve!

Then why had she lied?

The robot cab drew up to the curb, stopped, said in a harsh metallic voice, "Offices of the Interplanetary Commission," and the door opened automatically.