mouth of the cul de sac. He moved cautiously toward her, stopping to pick up the blaster of the fallen DIC agent. The comforting feel of its butt gave him confidence as he walked toward her.

"Who are you?" Pell asked. She was small and lithe, and in the dim radiance of the street lights he noticed that she had brown hair with glints of spun-gold in it.

She did not reply to his question but put a soft hand over his mouth. "Let your questions wait. We must leave quickly, else they find us," she said huskily. She led him from the alley and walked breathlessly down the dark street, two of her steps matching one of his long ones.

There was a fast-looking black speeder at the corner. She motioned him in and no sooner had the door closed than the speeder leaped forward and melted into the traffic. The girl relaxed in the seat beside him, the sudden easing of the tension making her hands shake.

"Who are you?" Pell asked, repeating his earlier question.

She looked at him keenly in the dim light that splashed through the windows of the speeder. "Perhaps, Mr. Pell," she replied at length, "it would not be too wise to reveal identities yet. I have a certain proposition to discuss and I think it might be better to talk first about that."

Pell shrugged and said, "As long as you choose to remain my unknown benefactor, how about benefiting me with a drink?"

The voice of the driver replied unexpectedly from the front seat. "Here."

Pell accepted a gleaming flask and took a long drink. "Ahh," he said at length. "Do you have much ulcer trouble on Centaura?"

The girl looked at him, startled. "You are very shrewd, Pell. I hope you won't become too clever for your own good."

Out of the corner of his eye Pell saw her hand creep for the pocket of her jumper and it occurred to him that silence would possibly be wiser at that.

The voice of the driver broke in from the front seat. "Miss Helmuth, the DIC patrols are thick around here—we had better head out of town."

The girl looked through the plastine rear window and the dim glow of the street lamps etched lines of strain about her mouth. "You're right, Heintz. Slip out of the traffic and head for the space port."

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