I swore under my breath and slammed shut the warp-hatch switch.

Locking bars whispered back. The hatch revolved on its axis, slow as an asteroid eroding. I threw another quick glance at my chrono.

It still read the same as before: six Earth hours more ... six hours to ferret out the truth or be forever reconditioned.

—Six hours, that is, if Controller Alfred Kruze didn't cut it shorter.

And if he did, Rizal might very well change status. Today, it was billed as the FedGov's outermost bastion against the Kel. Tomorrow, it could prove man's fatal flaw, the Achilles heel in our whole system of defenses.

In which case—

Involuntarily, I shivered.

And still the hatch's cylinder moved at its same snail's pace.

Then, abruptly, there was a click of gears meshing. Tenons dovetailed. The hatch slid inward on its thick, girder-rigid tracks, back between the island banks of micromesh transistors.

Not waiting further, I squeezed between cylinder and slot and scrambled out into the night.

"Agent Traynor—?"

The voice came from the shadows. A dull, phlegmatic, tranquilized, conditioned voice. I stopped short; turned fast. "Who's asking?"

The man shrugged stolidly, not even picking up my tension. "I'm a port rep, Agent Traynor. Port rep second, that is—"

"So who told you to come out here? Who said you should meet me?"

"Oh...." A pause. "Well, you see, there's this sigman, Agent Traynor. Up in the Interworld Communications section. He had a regular 7-D clearance report that a FedGov Security investigation agent was warping in—you have to file a 7-D on all warpings, you know, Agent Traynor, on account of restrictives. So—well, the rep first was out to eat, so I just notified Rizal Security, just a routine report, and the unit controller there, an Agent Gaylord, he said for me to meet you, and—"

I bit down hard and shifted my weight, both at once, wondering if a broken jaw would interfere with the work of a port rep second.

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