Mars City. The blue mist was a heavy fog that swirled around them.

In the lighted circle of the spaceport area three stubby, two-stage gravity-boats sat upright, about a hundred yards apart. These were the heavy duty rockets that plied back and forth to Phobos, Mars' inner moon and Marscorp's natural space station, entering the planetary atmosphere of Mars where spaceships could not go. Workmen stirred busily around one of the G-boats; a guard stood at the entrance port of each of the other two.

Jonner tried to assess the evidence, to decide which of his five companions was the Marscorp spy. How Marscorp had found out about the expedition, how the credentials had been forged, how the rendezvous had been learned, did not matter now. Marscorp could not know their plans beyond the rendezvous in the desert, because only he and Sir Stanrich had known the orders Sir Stanrich had given him for this mission.

The fact that Stein and Wessfeld had arrived together from Charax eliminated them as suspects, for the Charax command would have known whether one or two men were to be sent from there.

Jonner did not believe Tyruss was the spy. Jonner had won his space papers just before the Rebellion began, but it was logical that Sir Stanrich would send a more experienced space captain to handle their ship.

That left Farlan and Aron, from different sections of the Hadriacum front. Which one? In their specialties, Farlan was an alternate to Stein as an astrogator, Aron an alternate to Wessfeld as an engineer. But every spaceman could handle every other spaceman's duties in an emergency, and it was hard to say which task they had decided to double up on.

Jonner expected the spy to make some move here, tonight, and he had prepared for it on the way from the desert. One earphone of his helmet receiver was tuned with his speaker to the Rebel band they used, the other was tuned to the local frequency used by Marscorp. Jonner listened with one ear to the occasional reports and orders that were passed around the spaceport.

Jonner punched Tyruss, next to him, twice on the shoulder. It was the signal. The six men rose and moved forward together.

The sentry who loomed before them had no chance. A heat-gun beam is invisible. They cut him down and scurried to the edge of the spaceport, into the circle of light, running in long leaps toward the nearest G-boat.

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