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this corridor. There is nowhere else he could have gone. If he is here by authority and invitation, I unreservedly apologize, but I had thought to do a service—”
    “In one of these cabins? One of these five?” The officer gestured. “Then we can settle the matter quickly enough.”
    He stepped rapidly to the cabin next to that from which he had himself come out. He shot the door back. “No one,” he said. At the next one, “No one.”
    Vykor watched in growing dismay as the officer convinced himself that all five of the cabins were empty, and none of them had alternative exits. He came back with a shake of his head and a smile.
    “I don’t see how your story could be true, young man,” he said. “Therefore we had better go together to see Captain Raige.”
    He gestured to Vykor to precede him, and Vykor did so, depressed. To have forfeited his right to special trust and to have gained nothing! It was galling and humiliating; it was worse still when he had to stand, hanging his head, before Captain Raige’s inscrutable smile and confirm what his companion reported.
    “Yes, Indie,” she said at length. “Vykor was indeed down here at my request, and I am very much interested in this stranger, Lang.” She switched her gaze to Vykor. “What exacdy did Lang do, then?”
    Vykor told her.
    "It was the end of this corridor here, outside this cabin, that he walked across and where you saw him?”
    Vykor bit his lip and shook his head. "I—I had a fit of curiosity,” he confessed, feeling the blood mount to his cheeks.
    “Well, let me dispel that if it hasn’t been satisfied,” Raige said placidly. “This is our home, Vykor—the Glaithe staff’s private section of Waystation. We like to keep it to ourselves, so we don’t advertise its existence, and in fact on the maps we publish we camouflage its whereabouts by distorting the scale here and there. I should have thought to tell you in the beginning.”
    “And you invited Lang down here, I suppose?” Vykor said in a gloomy voice.
    "No,” said Raige, shaking her head, and a look of wonder spread across her face. “No, no one would have done that. If Lang really was here—”
    “He was!” insisted Vykor.
    "Then he is no stranger here, and has lied to us. Indie, we must know why!”
     
     
     

VI
    Officially, Ferenc was on furlough. He was unmarried and had no dependents; his rank was high enough to convince onlookers that he had money to pour out on a trip to Waystation. He had been there before, moreover, as part of the permanent staff the Cathrodynes kept in their allotted sector of the station to handle trade disputes, prisoner repatriation and similar matters that were traditionally conducted on the neutral ground of Waystation.
    It was therefore logical that he should go direct to the Cathrodyne section on his arrival, instead of setting out at once on the tourist circuit.
    He had no baggage, of course; that would have been delivered by now through automatic chutes direct from the ship. He had the check number of the cabin to which it had gone. Anywhere on Waystation was within an hour’s travel of anywhere else, and aside from mere physical propinquity it was a matter of indifference to visitors where they were accommodated.
    He hardly bothered to think about the route he was taking; he had become familiar, during his tour here, with the layout of the entire station. And his mind was far too full of other matters.
    Finally, having dropped ten levels and taken a conveyer chair across another two, he was in the Cathrodyne section. Almost. at once, when he stepped from the elevator, he could sense the difference between his surroundings here and the calm, Glaithe-directed reception areas. Here the very atmosphere seemed to be wound up, tightly charged, tensed and poised for action.
    A new snap in his walk, he strode down passages and into anterooms, presenting credentials. Three minutes saw him in the presence of the man he had asked for: General