Only then, all at once, I caught the unmistakable whish of a grav-car sweeping in.

The lights hit us almost in the same instant. Two seconds later a man who said he was Agent Gaylord was jumping down and locking wrists with me in Rizal's traditional greeting.

Even that wrist-lock set my teeth on edge. It was too solid, too stolid, too thorough a job of conditioning.

Or was it maybe, just a trifle over-done?

Thoughtfully, I studied Gaylord.

A tiny vein was twitching, up close to his hair-line. He seemed to have a tendency to nibble at his lower lip also. His nails—

We got into the grav-car. The routine began almost before we were off the ground: "Sorry I wasn't here to meet you, Traynor. But we didn't get a copy of your assignment order, or even of your warping clearance."

I shrugged. "I'm not surprised. The whole thing was pretty sudden."

"Oh?" Unit Controller Gaylord sounded as if he were trying to sound casual. "Just what is the 'whole thing,' Traynor? Are you allowed to tell me about it?"

"Glad to, if you'll promise not to turn me in for a psych check." I made a business of chuckling with wry good humor. "As a matter of fact, I'm here to become the recipient of good fortune."

"The re—What—?" The grav-car rocked as Gaylord swung round, staring at me.

"The recipient of good fortune," I repeated. "Rizal's a lucky planet these days: that's the word. So I'm here to see if I can hook one of the prizes."

Gaylord faced front again—a trifle abruptly, it seemed. The grav-car speeded up.

I said "They're clever gadgets, Gaylord. Have you picked up any more of them?"

My companion's face stayed expressionless as a mask. "Any more of what?"

I shrugged. "Thrill-mills, obviously."

"Thrill-mills—?"

I leaned back in my seat, full of the satisfaction that comes of drawing the right card. "A thrill-mill," I observed, assuming a mock-academic tone, "is a fantastically expensive little device known technically as a perceptual intensifier. It's given away, not bought or sold, and is found only on 

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