"That's the worry of the Warrior Patrol," he said. "My orders are to keep the tunnel open."

Captain Stew stopped pacing the floor.

"Sure," he said. "Sure, you're in the clear. Look at it like I do. Eight times now, Vestena suicide ships have shot in here and dropped explosives into the tunnel mouth. Eight times you've plowed them out again. Not once has the Vestena army attacked.

"When they do, they're going straight through to the other end of the tunnel. There isn't room inside the tunnel to fight. There isn't any Parma fleet at the other end.

"Damned if we can stop them here. They'll be in the tunnel before we have time to strike."

Freedman shrugged.

"Blow up the tunnel."

"Sure," Stew bellowed, "and have every satellite in the system on our neck. This ain't war boy. It's politics, and Parma has its political neck stuck out right over the block."

Freedman read the note a dozen times. He propped it up near the mirror as he shaved, trying to figure out why Sheila would trouble herself again with him. Blair Freedman, it said, meet me at the Z1000 hangar tonight at moonrise. He scowled at the mirror as he shaved. The girl had admitted that she lived with the Space Merchants on Vestena. Admitted that she was actually from an enemy country. It took nerve, he thought, for her to come here alone.

He was undecided about the proposed meeting at the hangar. Was it some sort of a trap? She had threatened him. Freedman smiled. Threatened by a girl. He washed his face, donned a fresh tunic and laced it. He found his space pistol, always worn in these unstable days, and strapped it on.

Moonrise, he thought, and made a mental calculation. Half hour to ten. Here I come, Miss Graham, and no tricks please.

He locked the door behind him and went down to the rocket car in the hotel court.

The Z1000 bulked huge and secure in the semi-darkness of the hangar. The low moon was coming up slowly, and the high moon already shot its pale rays from the Larr Mountains in the opposite direction. This was one of those rare, beautiful nights when Parma seemed to bask proudly in the light of its moons. A night for peace, Freedman thought, and Vestena ships probably already on the prowl.

He walked up and down 

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