he saw the guard reach inside asmall pocket in his webbed pistol belt. The man gestured to the othersto duck back out of harm's way. Then, his throwing arm reared back andsent a pellet sailing in a high arc. It landed at Lance's feet and burstinstantly. Yellowish gas billowed out. Its acrid fumes penetratedLance's throat and nostrils. He began coughing. Then, all the fightsuddenly ebbed from him. His knees buckled. He was stumbling, falling.The sky reeled.
And very indistinctly, from far away, came the colonel's voice, barking:"Put him in the brig until he recovers. I repeat, let nobody see him.And another thing--I declare everything that's happened here todayclassified information. If a single word leaks out, I'll have everyman-jack among you placed in solitary and held for court-martial."
Then, Lance knew nothing more.
* * * * *
When at last he recovered consciousness and was able to sit up in a kindof groggy stupor, Lance found himself, for the first time in fifteenservice-devoted years, on the inside of a guardhouse looking out.
With sardonic melancholy, he recalled times on his O.D. and O.G. tourswhen he had inspected various prison areas, peered into the cells, andoften felt mildly sorry for some poor spaceman doing time for some minorinfraction. There had never been very many offenders. Discipline onspace bases was not a pressing problem: the corps was an elite branchand intransigent candidates were weeded out quick.
Well, now he was a prisoner, himself. He, Lance Cooper, Major, SpaceService, stood behind bars. And no matter how hard his face pressedagainst those bars, he could only see as far as the corridor extended ineither direction.
It wasn't far enough.
Nor would anybody talk to him. He couldn't even get the time of day.
Not since his probation as a plebe, had he consorted with such a bunchof "hush-mouths." Had he no rights as a commissioned officer and a worldcitizen? He still didn't know why he was incarcerated, or whatregulation he had broken.
But that wasn't his most nagging worry.
What preyed on his mind most was Carolyn.
_Where was she?_
_Where? Where? WHERE?_
He could have lowered his head and pounded it to a pulp against thewall, in his rage and frustration at being confined. But banging hisbrains out wouldn't help. Besides, he was going to stand deeply in needof his gray matter, if he hoped to get out of this one.
At evening time, a guardhouse trusty brought him his supper on a tray.Also, the man tossed him half a pack of cigarettes when Lance sought tobum just one. But when the pilot started pitching questions back, thetrusty looked scared and unhappy and quickly limped away.
The night dragged on, as unending seemingly as one of Luna's two-weekdarkouts. Lance smoked, paced the cell from wall to wall, occasionallyplopped down on his cot and went over everything that had happened,trying to find some pattern to it.
But there was no pattern.
Next morning, he splashed up and shaved beard away from a tired,red-eyed face in the mirror. Then, he waited. No one came.
Finally, at noon a new officer checked in for duty at the guardhouse.Lance recognized him as a young ordinance captain he'd met before. Hecalled out to the man. The officer, striding down the hallway, wheeledat the sound of his name and came back to the cell. His eyes buggedslightly, when he saw Lance: "Holy smoke, major! What've they got you infor?"
"Search me." Lance was overjoyed to find someone, at last, who didn'tdummy up. "I thought maybe you might have a notion."
"I just came on duty. But if there's a charge sheet lying around, Imight dig up something from it."
"Would you try?"
The captain held up two fingers and grinned. "No sweat."
* * * * *
Lance waited some more.
The captain did not come back, however, until several hours later. AfterLance's evening meal, in fact. His face bore a puzzled frown.
Lance stood at his cell door, gripping the bars. "Well?"
"I checked. Seems the brass are holding you for observation until someheadshrinker gets in from HQ. A specialist in hyperspace medicine."
"Then, how come I'm not in a regular hospital? Why the jailhouse?"
"Beats me, major. I can tell you this, though. You're not the firsthype-pilot who's been dragged in here screaming."
"But I wasn't screaming! I was perfectly calm and collected, when Iclimbed down out of my ship. All I did was ask about Carolyn."
"About who?"
"Carolyn Sagen. Old Hard-Head's daughter." Lance felt a sinking feeling.He stopped, cocked a wary eye at the other officer. "Don't look at methat way, man."
The captain had been staring hard at Lance. Now, he began shaking hishead back and forth, slowly and sadly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Lance asked.
"It means Colonel Sagen doesn't have a daughter."
Lance snorted. "Don't tell me that. I'm engaged to her."
"Sorry, major. I've been around the colonel and his wife since I was akid. He got me the appointment to the Academy. They've never had anychildren of their own."
"Why, you--" Lance reached through the bars and grabbed the captain byhis shirt collar, jerking him against the bars. "It's a lie! Aconspiracy! Maybe you think I'm nuts. But I'm not!" He commencedpummeling the captain with his free fist. Then he thought of somethingbetter. He snatched the captain's gun from his holster and leveled it.
"I'm getting out of here," Lance announced. "Open up this door--or takethe consequences!"
The captain, his face ashy white, submitted and unlocked the cell door.Lance stepped out, got behind the officer, and prodded him into thecell. Tearing a sheet into strips, he tied the man to the cot and gaggedhim. It took a very short time.
Then, he softly padded down the hallway. He caught the sergeant of theguard napping in his chair. In a moment, the sergeant, too, was trussedup, gagged, and whisked into a spare cell. Lance then tucked thecaptain's pistol inside his shirt and ventured outside.
It was a moonlit night. A patrol jeep was parked on the drive, beggingto be commandeered. Lance hopped in. There was something he had to findout for himself, and only one way to do it: Go to the place where theykept the answers.
Wheeling the jeep along the military street fast as he dared, Lanceheaded for the base housing area. Colonel Sagen's trim two-story brickresidence was where he hoped to pay a call. He knew the route by heart.He'd been a guest there often enough.
The colonel's driveway was empty of cars, he was happy to notice, whenhe reached the house. He parked, sprinted up to the porch, and knockedon the door.
Presently, footsteps sounded inside and the door opened a few inches.But it was not Carolyn whom Lance saw peeping out at him. It was anotherwoman, older. He recognized Mrs. Sagen.
Lance was blunt. "I've got to see Carolyn, and I haven't much time.You'd better let me in."
An apprehensive, almost shocked expression briefly flitted across theface of Carolyn's mother. It was as if she had never set eyes on LanceCooper before. Even the gold oak leaves on his shoulders seemed toreassure her but slightly. She kept the door chain in place betweenthem.
"I'm sorry, major. I'm not sure that I understand you."
"Don't malarky me, please. You know who I am and who I want. Carolyn,your daughter."
"Oh," said Mrs. Sagen. It was said in a way that revealed nothing.
"Look," said Lance, impatiently. "You do have a daughter. I've datedher. So, all right," he waved his hands, "she's been spirited away forsome reason. I still think I've got a right to know why."
"Oh, my!" said Mrs. Sagen, and her hand flew to her face. "You must bethat scout-ship pilot who showed up yesterday. The one who--"
"Yeh, the one everybody figures for psycho. But I'm not, Mrs. Sagen. Youknow I'm not." Lance took a deep breath. "Can I come in? I just wantsome facts. After all, this crazy farce can't go on forever."
The colonel's wife still looked doubtful, but Lance Cooper had a way ofpressing a point hard
when his interests were at stake. He began talkingrapidly and convincingly.
He got in.
* * * * *
The light indoors was better. Lance's eyes squinted, as they adjustedfrom the gloom of the porch. Somehow, Mrs. Sagen didn't look quite as heremembered. Her hair was much darker now; he was sure of that. Maybe shehad dyed it. Yet her features were certainly harder and bonier. Morelike a replica of her husband's. And her breath smelled alcoholic. Coulda mere month have made that much difference?
The house had been refurnished too, Lance noticed. The living-room decorwas more severe and functional. And the