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his hand, neatly shaving off hairs, "you may still be a police, but you might not be a man."
    "You unutterable monster," he said.
    "It is nicer droppin nuclear missiles on cities?" she asked, genuinely bemused.
    "Yes," Urushkidan snickered, "I habe had a digestibe pouch full of you Jobians talking about te glories of war and destiny and te will of te Race and historical necessity and suchlike tings. Perhaps in future you will wish to employ more logical rigor."
    The flight was short to Camp Muellenhoff. It lay out on the surface, a cluster of pressure huts around a watchtower. There was no barbed wire; the Ganymedean environment gave ample security. If a spacesuited prisoner did slip away from a work detail, the sole question was whether a local monster would get him before his oxygen or his heat pack was exhausted.
    When the boat landed in the area, such a figure was urged toward her airlock by a couple of others. The political officer had radioed ahead the demand he was supposed to, quite convincingly. A voice did rattle out of her receiver: "Sir, I've been ordered to ask if you really want to bring this prisoner back to town. We've lately been alerted to watch out for a party of escaped desperadoes."
    "Yes," the secret policeman said between clenched teeth, "I want him back in town. Oh. how I want him back in town!"
    The captive stumbled into the cabin. Ice promptly formed over his armor. Dyann gave a command, the boat stood on her tail and screamed off toward parts unknown, the newly rescued person clattered against the after bulkhead and lay asprawl.
    Presently, when they were flying on an even keel, he opened his faceplate. Slightly battered, the countenance of Ray Tallantyre emerged. " Haa-ai , dear sveetheart!" Dyann cried. She reached for him, touched his suit, and withdraw her hand with a yelp. "How are you?" she asked, not very distinctly since she was sucking frostbitten fingers.
    "Well . . . I . . . well, not too bad." he answered out of his bewilderment. "A rough time but . . . mainly it was truth drugs . . . they told me I'd be shot as a, a precautionary measure—"
    "Poor, dear Ray! Poor little Earthlin! Lie easy. I vill soon take care of you."
    "Yeah, I'm afraid you will."
    "Te immediate question," Urushkidan said, "is, Tallantyre, can you pilot a behicle of tis type?"
    "Well, uh. yes, I suppose I can," Ray answered. "Looks like a modified Astrid-Luscombe. . . . Yes, I can."
    "Good. Ten we can drop tis creature here. I do not like and/or trust him. He smells of phenylalanine—Dyann! Do you mean we are not simply going to drop him?"
    "I made my promise," the woman said.
    They descended on a rocky plateau, gave the secret policeman a spacesuit, and dismissed him. He should be able to reach the camp, given reasonable luck. Nevertheless he bemoaned his maltreatment.
    "And now. vat next?" Dyann asked blithely.
    "Lord knows," Ray sighed. "I suppose we find us a place in the wilderness where we aren't likely to be spotted for a while, and take stock. Maybe, in some crazy fashion, we can contact the Union embassy. You and Urushkidan ought to rate diplomatic intervention, and I can ride on your cloaks. Maybe. First we find that hideyhole, and second we prepare to skedaddle if we spy a Jovian flyer."
    He strapped into the master seat and tickled the controls. The boat lifted readily, but after a moment began to shake, while ominous noises came through the engine-room radiation wall.
    "Could tat be te effects of carbon deposits in te tubes tat we were warned about?" wondered Urushkidan.
    Ray grimaced. "You mean you took off without proper warmup? Yes. I'm afraid it is." His fingers danced across the board. The response he got was erratic. "We'll have to land soon. Else we crash. It'll take a week before the radioactivity is low enough that we can go out and clean the jets."
    "And meanvile is a satellite-vide hunt after us." Dyann's clear brow wrinkled. "Is Ormun offended because I did not invite her alon? It does seem