Duane braced himself with one arm against the pilot’s chair and stared at them. The crazy circular course the blasted controls had given the ship had a strong lateral component; around and around the ship went, in a screaming circle, chasing its own tail. There was a sudden change in the light from the port outside; Duane involuntarily looked up for a moment. Dulled and purplish was the gleam from the brilliant stars all about; the Cameroon, in its locked orbit, had completed a circle and was plunging through its own wake of expelled jet-gases. He saw the two patrol rockets streak past; then saw the flood of rocket-flares from their side jets as they spun and braked, trying to match course and speed with the crazy orbit of the Cameroon.
He’d looked away for only a second; abruptly he looked back.
“Easy!” he snapped. Andrias’ arm, which had begun to lift, straightened out, and the scowl on the governor’s face darkened even more.
Clackety-clack. There was the sound of a girl’s high heels running along the corridor, followed by heavier thumps from the space boots of men. Duane jerked his gun at Andrias and his police.
“Out of the way!” he said. “Let’s see who’s coming now.”
It was the girl. Red hair fluttering in the wake of her running, face alight with anxiety, she burst into the room.
“Peter!” she cried. “Andrias and his men—”
She stopped short and took in the tableau. Duane’s eyes were on her, and he was about to speak. Then he became conscious of something in her own eyes, a sudden spark that flared even before her lips opened and a thin cry came from them; even before she leaped to one side, at Andrias.
Peter cursed and tried to turn, to dodge; tried to bring his heat gun around. But a thunder louder than the bellowing jets outside filled the room, and a streak of livid fire crossed the fringe of Peter’s brain. Sudden blackness closed in around him. He fell—and his closing eyes saw new figures running into the room, saw the counterplay of lashing heat beams.
This is it
—he thought grimly, and then thought no more.
V
Duane was in the sickbay again, on the same bed. His head was spinning agonizedly. He forced his eyes open—and the girl was there; the same girl. She was watching him. A cloud on her face lifted as she saw his lids flicker open; then it descended again. Her lips quivered.
“Darn you, Peter,” she whispered. “Who are you now?”
“Why—why, I’m Peter Duane, of course,” he said.
“Well, thank God you know that!” It was the captain. He’d changed since the last time Peter had seen him. One arm was slung in bandages that bore the yellow seeping tint of burn salve.
Peter shook his head to try to clear it. “Where—where am I?” he asked. “Andrias—”
“Andrias is where he won’t bother you,” the captain said. “Locked up below. So are two of his men. The other one’s dead. How’s your memory, Peter?”
Duane touched it experimentally with a questing mental finger. It seemed all right, though he felt still dazed.
“Coming along,” he said. “But where am I? The controls—I blasted them.”
The captain laughed. “I know,” he said briefly. “Well—I guess you had to, in a way. You didn’t trust anyone; couldn’t trust anyone. You had to make sure the rifles wouldn’t get back to Callisto too soon. But they’re working on installing duplicates now, Peter. In an hour we’ll be back on Callisto. We shut the jets off already; we’re in an orbit.”
Duane sank back. “Listen,” he said. “I think—I think my memory’s clearing, somehow. But how—I mean, were you on my side? All along?”
The captain nodded soberly. “On your side, yes, Peter,” he said. “The League’s side, that is. You and I, you know, both work for the League. When they got word of Andrias’ plans, they had to work fast. To move in by force would have meant bloodshed, would have forced his hand. That would have been utterly bad. It was too dangerous. Callisto is politically a powder-keg already. The whole thing might have exploded.”
Peter’s eyes flared with sudden hope and enlightment. “And you and I—” he began.
“You and I, and a couple of other undercover workers were put on the job,” the captain nodded. “We had to find out who Andrias’ supporters were—and to keep him from getting more electron rifles while the commanders of the Callisto garrison were quietly checked, to see who was on which side. They’ve found Andrias’ Earth backers—a group of wealthy malcontents who thought Callisto should be exploited for their gain, had made secret deals with him for concessions. You, of course, slowed down the delivery of the rifles as long as you could. They lay in the Lunar warehouses a precious extra week while you haggled over terms. That’s what you were doing with Stevens, I think, when the course change caught you both.”
“You’ve had him long enough,” the nurse broke in. “I have a few words to say.”
“No, wait—” Duane protested. But the captain was grinning broadly. He moved toward the door.
“Later,” he said over his shoulder. “There’ll be plenty of time.” The door closed behind him. Duane turned to the girl.
He shook his head again. The cloud was lifting. He could almost remember everything again; things were beginning to come into focus. This girl, for instance—
She noticed his motion. “How’s your head, Peter?” she asked solicitously. “Andrias hit you with that awful old bullet-gun. I tried to stop
