Again he saw her as in those last long moments--sealed in her separate sphere, her pale face fear-straught. 

The memory woke new fever in him. Why was he lying here, with her in danger? Now, above all, seconds were precious! 

And there was only one road for him to take to help her. 

A bitter road. Yet he had no choice. 

He shifted; twisted; fumbled for the buzzer button. 

A medman came. Boone said, "I want a space-phone." 

"Who are you calling?" 

"The Ganymedan base director. His name is Martin Krobis." 

"I'll see." The man went out again. 

When he came back, he brought an audio-visual com-box with him. "The call's allowed. I've placed it for you." Setting down the unit on the stand beside Boone's bed, he left the room. 

Taut-nerved, Boone waited. 

Then the signal blinked. Krobis' face flashed on the receptor-screen, sharp features set in an expression that was half gloating smirk, half chill, bleak menace. "Well, Boone?" His voice came brittle. 

Boone hunched forward. "Let's not waste time on things past, Krobis. We know how we feel about each other. What counts now is that Eileen's in trouble." 

Tersely, he told his story. 

But Krobis' expression stayed the same. The black eyes showed no slightest flicker of emotion. 

"That's all, Boone?" 

Boone's palms were sweating. "'That's all'--?" he echoed. "Isn't that enough? What more do you want." 

For the first time, Krobis' facial muscles shifted. Hate boiled in his eyes. His lips peeled back in a raging grimace. "I want _you_, Boone!" he slashed out fiercely. "I want you, and I'm going to get you! Before I'm through, you'll be booted out of Cartel service and rubbing _djec_ in Venus barracks. This nonsense you've told me--"--he laughed, a harsh, contemptuous laugh--"--do you think I don't see through it? Not even a 

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