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steps.”
    â€œNo more music!” Carso said hastily.
    â€œNo. The next stop will be a more practical one.” Navarre led the way down the arcade until they reached a shop whose front display said simply, Weapons . They went in.
    The proprietor here was of a different stamp than the man in the music shop; he was a rangy Kariadi, his light blue skin glowing in color-harmony with the electroluminescents in the shop’s walls.
    â€œCan I help you?”
    â€œPossibly you can,” Navarre said. He swept back his hood, revealing his Earthman’s scalp. “We’re from Jorus. There are assassins on our trail, and we want to shake them. Have you a back exit?”
    â€œOver there,” the armorer said. “Are you armed?”
    â€œWe are, but we could do with some spare charges. Say, five apiece.” Navarre placed a bill on the counter and slid the wrapped packages into his tunic pocket.
    â€œAre those the men?” the proprietor asked.
    Two shadowy figures were visible through the one-way glass of the window. They peered in uneasily.
    â€œI think they’re coming in here,” Navarre said.
    â€œAll right. You two go our the back way; I’ll chat with them for a while.”
    Navarre flashed the man an appreciative smile and he and Carso slipped through the indicated door, just as their pursuers entered the weapons shop.
    â€œDouble around the arcade and wait at the end of the corridor, eh?” Carso suggested.
    â€œRight. We’ll catch them as they come out.”
    Some hasty running brought them to a strategic position. “Keep your eyes open,” Navarre said. “That shopkeeper may have told them where we are.”
    â€œI doubt it. He looked honest.”
    â€œYou never can tell,” Navarre said. “Hush, now!”
    The door of the gun shop was opening.
    The followers emerged, edging out into the corridor again, squeezing themselves against the wall and peering in all directions. They looked acutely uncomfortable now that they had lost sight of their quarry.
    Navarre drew his blaster and hefted it thoughtfully. After a moment’s pause he shouted, “Stand still and raise your hands,” and squirted a bolt of energy almost at their feet.
    One of the pair yelled in fear, but the other, responding instantly, drew and fired. His bolt, deliberately aimed high, brought down a section of the arcade roofing; the drifting dust and plaster obscured vision.
    â€œThey’re getting away!” Carso snapped. “Let’s go after them fast!”
    They leaped from hiding and raced through the rubble; dimly they could see the retreating pair heading for the main waiting room. Navarre cursed; if they got in there, there would be no chance of bringing them down.
    As he ran, he leveled his blaster and emitted a single short burst. One of the two toppled and fell; the other continued running, and vanished abruptly into the crowded waiting room.
    â€œI’ll go in after him,” Navarre said. “You look at the dead one and see if there’s any sort of identification on him.”
    Navarre pushed his way through the photon-beam and into the spaceport’s crowded waiting room. He caught sight of his man up ahead, jostling desperately toward the cab-stand. Navarre holstered his blaster; he would never be able to use it in here.
    â€œStop that man!” he roared. “Stop him!”
    Perhaps it was the authority in his tone, perhaps it was his baldness, but to his surprise a foot stretched out and sent the fleeing spy sprawling. Navarre reached him in an instant, and knocked the useless blaster from his hand. He tugged the quivering man to his feet.
    â€œAll right, who are you?”
    He punctuated the question with a slap. The man sputtered and turned his face away without replying, and Navarre hit him again.
    This time the man cursed and tried fruitlessly to break away.
    â€œDid Kausirn send you?” Navarre demanded,