I said, "Let me talk to Controller Gaylord, please."

A pause, a buzzing. Then, "Controller Gaylord speaking."

"You're up late, aren't you, Gaylord?" Intentionally, I made it mocking.

"What—?" The controller's voice rose, sharp with anger; then fell again, as quickly crafty. "Who is this, anyhow?"

"Who would you think?" I countered, chuckling. "It's me, of course, Gaylord—me, your dearest friend, Mark Traynor."

"Traynor!"

"That's right." Again, I chuckled. "Does it surprise you so much?"

"Listen, Traynor—"

"I know. You want to get together with me." I paused a moment, letting the tension hang and build. "You know, it could be I'd like to get together with you, too."

"Of course, Traynor." Gaylord was getting smoother, silkier, by the second. "Look, I'm up in my office—"

"—And if I'll just join you there, you'll be happy beyond words to turn me over to Kruze for trial and disciplinary action. Is that it?" I snorted. "No, thanks, Gaylord. I'm not about to play it that way."

"But Traynor, listen—"

"You listen!" I let him have it flat and hard and driving. "If you want to see me, you're coming where I am, alone. Play it any other way, and I'll fade so fast you'll never find me."

"But—"

"Also, I'll figure a way to let Kruze know about you. All about you, thrill-mills included."

"Traynor, for heaven's sakes—"

"Is it my way, then? My way, all the way?"

"Yes, Traynor, yes!"

"Good enough, then." I hesitated. "Look: Do you know a thil-shop over on MR2, about three squares from your place?"

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