Redline the Stars

18

Rael smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of her tunic.

Dress uniforms did that to one, she thought. With their high collars and stark, dramatic styling, they tended to render the victim wearing one acutely conscious of his potential for imperfection. Maybe that was even a subtle part of their purpose. A little uncertainty went far in keeping a person alert ...

She glanced at her companion. Miceal Jellico, too, was encased in his formal uniform, but if he felt discomfort or a sense of confinement, he was far too practiced to give any sign of it.

Van Rycke, walking a few paces ahead, was, perhaps, the more striking figure with his greater height and bulk comprised of rippling muscle, but she found Jellico more impressive. Lean, wiry, with the feline grace a lifetime in space had bequeathed to him, bearing the aura of an authority that carried not merely the welfare but the very lives of others, he looked the part of the master of a starship plying the perilous lanes on the rim. The hard features, the blaster-bumed cheek, the eyes like tempered titanone served only to emphasize that role.

Her eyes swept the constantly shifting lunchtime crowd.

Their host had instructed the Free Traders to come to the lobby of this, the tallest building in Canuche Town, promising to meet them here and escort them to the exclusive restaurant at its summit.

The men with her raised their hands suddenly in recognition and greeting, and she studied closely the individual who returned the gesture.

Adroo Macgregory was like Miceal, she judged at once.

He was older, with more white in his hair than dark. His eyes were a deep blue, his face rounder and fuller, but the two were of one breed. Space hound or planet hugger, she recognized that strength and independence of spirit. This one would not lightly bargain his soul or his season's profits away.

The Canuchean made his way through the throng to join their party. He immediately put out his hand in the ancient Terran greeting universally recognized wherever the mother world's seed had taken root. "Right on time. It's good to see you again, Captain Jellico, Mr. Van Rycke."

"We're pleased to see you as well, Mr. Macgregory," the former replied. He motioned the Medic to step forward.

"This is Doctor Rael Cofort."

The man inclined his head in an old-fashioned bow. His eyes sparkled even as they seemed to penetrate her to her very soul. "You're lovely for a fact. Doctor Cofort, but mortal like the rest of us, I'm relieved to see. I'd be a bit uncomfortable trying to deal with a vision."

Her smile broadened. "You'd manage all the same if it was good for business."

Macgregory laughed. "I would indeed. Doctor."

Their host ushered the off-worlders toward a roped-off lift platform. As he passed the uniformed gatekeeper he said, "We have a reservation for four," unnecessarily, apparently, for the woman began to raise the barrier as soon as she saw him.

Other groups were boarding as well, chiefly pairs with a • couple of threesomes thrown in. All fell silent as they stepped onto the platform, even as Adroo did. None were mere pleasure parties, and these close quarters lacked the privacy for the kind of top-level business discussions in which they intended to engage.

As soon as it was fully loaded, the lift started to rise. Rael leaned against the sturdy guardrail and peered over the edge to watch the teeming lobby recede as floor after floor flashed by. Soon, the crowd below appeared to be no more than a sea of animated miniature toys.

Because the lift was an express, free of any call to slow or pause in its ascent, it rose with a speed that almost crossed the threshold of comfort. Its motion was perfectly smooth, however, and it would take more than a peaceful rise like this to disturb the three spacers.

Only seconds after it had begun to move, the platform began to slow into a gentle stop that brought it flush with the floor of the Twenty-Two's reception area. The off- worlders stepped from it to find themselves on the stable hub of a broad, very slowly revolving disk on which were set a large number of tables, some near the core or in the center of the moving area, some right by the outer rim.

They were not surprised by the arrangement; it was a very old one that remained popular for the simple reason that it was so effective. People loved to dine in such a setting wherever there was height and a view of sufficient interest and beauty to warrant the construction of such a facility.

This establishment made particularly good use of the design, Mfeeal had to admit. In place of the usual flat roof and tall, broad window panels, the entire restaurant was enclosed in a huge glassteel dome, inches thick in fact but so transparent as to seem not to be there at all. It must be truly spectacular here on a clear night, he thought, with the stars and Canuche's two tiny moons shining above, mirrored below by the lights of the populous town and the harbor. By day, much of that splendor was absent, for the high, steep slopes rising sharply on either side of the narrow bay restricted the view to the uninspiring community flowing up from the industrial belt at the water's edge to pour over the crests into the invisible regions beyond. The harbor itself saved the situation as far as he was concerned. The building was not so terribly high as to destroy the detail of the scene below, and the ever-busy port offered a wealth of activity to catch and hold an observer's attention.

A formally suited individual approached their party.

"My usual table's on the outside," Adroo whispered, "but if that'll bother you, we'll change. You're here to enjoy a damn good meal, not to have your palates blunted by the peculiarities of the place."

Even as he spoke, his guests saw what he meant. The restaurant extended beyond the walls that confined the lower portions of the building, and the part of the floor that comprised the overhang was constructed of the same marvelously strong, clear material that fashioned the dome enclosing them. The tables placed there seemed to be standing on the air itself.

Jellico could bolt down food just about anywhere, but when a real feast was put before him he preferred to devote his attention to it and not be distracted by theatrics or dramatic surroundings, however attractive or interesting. Rael's delight, on the other hand, was open for once, and he offered no protest. "We're not likely to be eating in the Twenty-Two anytime soon again," he said. "Let's go for the full experience."

They were soon seated in comfortably upholstered chairs drawn up around a white-covered table. Water was immediately set before them, and they were given hot, moist towels for their hands.

The newcomers were conscious not so much of unease as of a sense of disorientation at first. The floor felt solid beneath their feet, but so clear was the glassteel that any downward glance seemed to make a lie of both touch and knowledge. For a time, all three off-worlders kept their eyes carefully fixed on their plates until the fascination of the scene revealed below outstripped the instinct to flight, and they began at last to enjoy the strange perspective and the array of activity it revealed.

It was just this experience that moved most people to make their first visit to the Twenty-Two, and they were left in peace to savor it. Their waiter discreetly watched until the four began at last to look about for him. At that point, he approached their table.

"Will there be any change from our meat entree? We also offer fowl, waterfood, or vegetables," he added for the benefit of the spacers, who were quick to declare that they would be delighted to have the house meal.

"What has Max put together for us today, Charles?"

Adroo inquired after giving his own assent.

The man smiled expansively. "Just about heaven, Mr. Macgregory. Broiled round of rambeef, black and white pasta balls with gravy, and young sweet sil pods in white sauce. The after-sweet is a fourteen-layer cream torte." No pre-entree courses were served on Canuche and no beverages save water during the meal itself so that nothing might dull or alter the taste of the main course. Dessert was always followed by either jakek or coffee.

"It sounds good, Charles. Thanks."

Once the waiter had gone, Macgregory drew an official-looking multicopy document from the portfolio he was carrying. "My lawyers drew this up for me last night. I've already signed and sealed it, so all that's needed to activate it are your signatures."

Van Rycke took it and read it over carefully. He nodded his agreement. "It covers everything we discussed," he said as he affixed his signature. He passed it to Jellico, who signed as well. He took the Queen's copy, which he folded and slipped into the document pouch on his belt; the other he returned to the industrialist. "Thank you, Mr, Macgregory."

"My pleasure," Macgregory responded with satisfaction.

He fixed his attention on Rael. "Now that I can't be accused of holding that contract over your head, I believe we have something to discuss. Doctor Cofort. — Your Captain did tell you of my offer, I presume?"

"He did," she replied, "or told me of its nature, rather.

He gave me no details."

"Those are for us to work out if you're interested in pursuing the matter. It would entail no small change for

you, and I expect you'll have to give it some pretty deep thought."

She smiled. "Deeper than you imagine, Mr. Macgregory. I didn't simply choose or fall into a career in space, you see. I was born on a Free Trader. The stars are in my blood. It'd go against everything I am to try to settle on any one world."

"Think about it all the same. I won't press you for an immediate decision—I wouldn't trust the judgment of anyone who'd give me one now under these circumstances— but a drastic change can work out well for a person. I had a bad case of wanderlust in my youth, and I've never been sorry for settling down and going into business."

The woman nodded slowly. "All right, Mr. Macgregory.

I will give the possibility serious consideration, but I can't honestly see myself pursuing it. Even if I were willing to quit the starlanes, I'm still a Medic. I don't want to give that up to spend my life selling, whatever the product." Rael eyed him pensively. "Would you mind answering a question, Mr. Macgregory?"

"Probably not. If I do, I'll tell you when I hear it."

"You could've had the Thornen silk if you'd wanted it.

Why didn't you take it?",

He chuckled. "Not for lack of interest, I assure you. —

Every man should know himself and what suits him. I'm a

worker ant and must content myself with the browns, blacks, and grays of my kind. Butterfly wings belong to other folk. That material would look ridiculous on my person or in my home, which is as plain as myself now that my wife's dead. I did toy with the idea of getting it for my sons and dividing it between them, but I've never spoiled them with extravagant presents and decided my best course was to stick to that policy." He laughed. "Besides, I was having too good a time watching my colleagues make noble fools of themselves. I didn't want to ruin the fun by entering the fray myself."

Jellico smiled at that, but his eyes were on the woman. Macgregory was right to try to lure her into his sales organization, he thought. Rael Cofort could move just about anything, herself not least of all, and she did not have to resort to conscious technique or flamboyant stunts to do it. Her talent for fixing her complete attention on a speaker, as if she found him genuinely valuable and infinitely interesting, saw to that. People were going to respond to that, and it would be a rare one who would not give her a favorable hearing in turn.

Their food was brought to them at that point, and the spacers quickly discovered that it was not the view that brought patrons back time after time to the Twenty-Two.

Everything was absolutely fresh and superbly prepared. Canucheans did not go in heavily for strong spices, but the dishes they produced were not lessened because of their delicate, natural taste. The chef here had the best ingredients at his disposal, local and imported, and his hand, though restrained, was unquestionably a master's.

While they ate, their host filled them in on Canuche's history and present status both in response to queries by Van Rycke and in keeping with surplanetary courtesy, which prohibited the discussion of business while food was actually before one's guests.

". . . She's an old planet and an odd one. There's little or no life at all on any of the three continents in the northern hemisphere save a bit right along the coasts."

"Burn-on?" Jan asked.

"We don't know. If so, it happened so long ago that all direct evidence has disappeared. It wouldn't be the Forerunners who did it but rather their Forerunners. A lot of our scientists think a natural disaster, or series of them, roight've been responsible, and a small minority says the north might never have supported more than we have now in the way of biotics."

"That's not very likely," Jellico said.

"No. It doesn't fit the pattern shown anywhere else in the galaxy where there's water and a reasonable atmosphere. Weathering makes soil, and something, evolutionarily speaking, eventually comes along to live in it."

"Besides, there is native life on Canuche."

"Yes. Very little and all low level in the north, as I said. The south has a reasonably rich flora. The fauna is species poor, but those creatures that are present often exist in vast numbers. Rambeeves are an example, as are the several kinds of fowl we've elected to farm."

"What about the sea?"

"The same general picture holds for all four oceans. Poor in variety but with large populations of the species that are present. Life of any sort is scarce or entirely absent from smaller bodies of water, north and south."

"Something happened here, right enough," the Captain declared. "Someday, maybe Federation scientists or Canuche's own will discover what it was."

"We keep hoping," Adroo replied.

Rael fixed her eyes on her plate. She did not have to hear more or read a library of documentation to be convinced gut level, in her own heart and mind, that Ali Kamil was right. The chill of that realization filled, all but overwhelmed, her. Canuche of Halio had been shattered in the past and maybe more than once, badly enough that most of the rich fauna and flora that should have graced such a planet had been eliminated, leaving the field open on each level of the food chain for the surviving species, plant and animal, to expand into great megapopulations.

She looked up again as the industrialist continued his account of his homeworld's history.

"Our First-Ship ancestors realized they had no natural paradise," he told them, "and decided to turn her peculiarities to their advantage and industrialize on a grand scale here in the north. The south, they devoted to farming. Canucheans knew from the start that we wanted to be self-sufficient and since this was a closed colony, claimed and settled by one group at one time, our ancestors enjoyed the luxury of being able to lay pretty definite and precise plans before ever taking ship for her surface.

Canuche provides the resources to meet our basic needs on-world, and the colony's founders made that a prime part of our life charter. — No society can count itself secure, safe from the danger of being overwhelmed by alien influences, or from being annihilated or starved outright, if it has to depend on outsiders for the really essential goods and services. It hasn't always been easy, and there have been periods of strong temptation, but thus far we've managed to appreciate our founders' wisdom and stick with their ideals and instructions."

Macgregory was a native of the capital, and his pride in it was apparent when their conversation turned to Canuche Town itself a few minutes later.

"Canuche Town's actually a misnomer," he told them.

"It may not be an inner-system megalopolis, but we have over two million residents and at least half that number again in the suburbs. That qualifies us as a city by anyone's lights.

"Like the other Canuchean towns, this is a community of individual neighborhoods. When our future First Shippers were developing their plans for the organization of our urban centers, it was decided to keep our workers near their jobs, ideally within walking distance or, at worst, a short commute away. Each of the neighborhoods thereby created is regarded and treated as a separate entity within the city and has its own schools, hospitals, shopping places, essential support services, and general entertainment and self-improvement facilities, which are often one and the same. Connecting and managing everything are an excellent public transport system and a civic government kept small enough and close enough to its constituents to remain responsive and effective. — The whole system's efficient, and everything's kept on a decent, human scale.

"You're actually seeing us just about at our worst from up here," Macgregory informed them. "Houses aren't packed in this tightly in most places, but between the plants down in the waterfront region and the docks themselves, there's a huge demand for workers. As I mentioned before, they live as close as possible to their jobs. It's a slum, in point of fact, or the Canuchean version of a slum.

We don't have the poverty and the major problems associated with that in many other places."

"Why the docks at all?" Van Rycke inquired. "Air transport's efficient, cheap, and fast."

"So are bur boats. Added to that, they don't take half a neighborhood out with them if one goes down. That happened with a big air transport during Canuche's early years. Once was enough. Besides, the boats provide work for a lot more people. As incomprehensible as that may seem to a lot of off-worlders, keeping our population fully employed has just about top priority on Canuche. You don't work, you emigrate."

"What about the spaceport, then?" the Medic asked hastily, hearing the defensive irritation in their host's voice. Handling the problem of a population a planet could not wholly support simply by kicking the excess off-world was not a policy favored by the Federation at large. "Granted it provides some good jobs, but starship crashes have been among the worst disasters in Federation history."

"It's not physically within the city," he replied a trifle grimly, "and we do insist that all ships make their approach and depart from the landward side."

"That's about as much as anyone can do," Jellico told him, "and the general procedures at the port're as tight as I've encountered anywhere."

The Captain gazed a moment through the transparent wall. "What are we seeing down there? What, for instance, is that huge white building on the right?"

"That's Caledonia, Inc.'s, contribution to Canuche Town's prosperity." The industrialist scowled momentarily. "If I'd listened to my instincts instead of to my fools of financial advisers, there'd be two more stories on it, but even as it is, it's the biggest single facility in the city, employing some thirty thousand people on-site alone, not counting our cadre of longshoremen, the crews manning our ships and transports, and those maintaining our feeder lines."

"Factory?" Van Rycke asked.

He nodded. "Basically. It's what we call a hodgepodge plant. We do some light manufacturing from scratch and a

lot of assembly of parts and products begun elsewhere as well as a great deal of research and development."

"Is that the usual procedure for the big manufacturers here?"

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Caledonia deals in construction and mining supplies, including very heavy major equipment, and in chemicals. Much of the preparation of both is done inland, either for safety's sake or on or near the mining sites for economic reasons. Some of the smaller items can go more completely through the manufacturing process here, but almost all the chemicals are piped to us in their component parts and blended or treated or whatever in the plant, then sent to their destinations as quickly as possible. We don't like holding them here. A good many of them have properties that make it undesirable to store them in quantity in a populous region."

"What do the other factories make?"

"You name it. Every major company on Canuche has some sort of office in the city, and most of them do active work here. Few of us can resist the opportunity offered by the harbor. Anything produced in Canuche Town can be shipped directly from here with almost no intermediate transport costs, and the proximity of the spaceport is a plus beyond price for importers and exporters alike."

Van Rycke studied the body of water below, an inlet six miles long and approximately a mile wide, whose dark blue color proclaimed considerable depth. "You could have done worse than that," he remarked. "It's what decided your ancestors to build on this site, of course?"

"Naturally. It's one of the finest on a planet well supplied with good ports. — Just .look at this setup! Twelve miles, six on each bank, of Hat waterfront land perfect for industrial facilities of every sort. The slopes on either side are steep but not cliffs. People can readily live on them.

The channel, which we call the Straight and Narrow, is sufficiently broad to permit the ready passage of any two vessels ever likely to travel our seas, and it's deep enough that in the old days, it would have been termed almost bottomless.

"We're truly blessed with respect to our defenses against the side effects of Canuche's bad weather, too. Both the current and the prevailing wind run parallel to this part of the coast, and only under the rarest combination of unfortunate circumstances does a storm pummel it head-on.

Even in that event, we usually escape its worst fury. The heights on the seaward side break the force of the gales, and the Straight pushes in at a diagonal. It opens away from the flow of the current, and a lot of the sea's anger simply bypasses us. The harbor area has had real trouble from storms or the ocean on only four or five occasions since the area was first settled."

"There's still the potential for danger," the woman warned, "if not from nature, then as a result of your own efforts. A few products at least of all those made or shipped here must be inflammable or violently unstable. These slopes are high and steep enough to confine and reflect back a blast or a sudden fire acting like one. The rest of the town would be spared a lot of grief as a result, but this area would pay the passage for all."

Macgregory looked at her with new respect. "You've got an eye. Doctor, and a head to go with it. — The city planners are aware of that risk. It was brought home to us by the possibility scenarios we ran during the Crater War. Canuche went heavily into munitions production at the time. Quite literally every port of any size was handling the finished products or their components, and none of those in charge was stupid enough not to realize the enormous potential for disaster inherent in dealing with such materiel. We were determined to hold on to both our profits and our lives.

"Canuche Town responded by keeping the war goods as much as possible away from the city and inner harbor." He turned in his chair so he could gaze back over his shoulder. "See those red docks on the shoulders framing the mouth of the Straight?"

"Aye."

"They continue some distance beyond along the seaward side, as far as there's level land to hold the piers backing them. All combat materiel was loaded from them.

Nothing ever did happen, praise the Lord of Light and Dark, but if a ship or dock had gone up, the worst of the blast would have broken on the heights or bypassed us, even as natural storms do. We'd have suffered some from the resultant sea surge, but that, too, would mostly have gone by.

"Munitions aren't the same industry now, I'm not sorry to say, and they're handled entirely on the west coast, where there are lower population levels. We use the red docks for fuel shipments, especially concoctions intended for the spaceport, the raw ingredients to make them, and other chemicals with chancy natures."

"Aren't those fuel tanks?" Jan inquired, pointing to a cluster of three tall cylinders just beneath their table. He could see approximately fifty similar structures scattered all along the waterfront. They were more heavily concentrated in some spots than others, but no section on either shore appeared to be completely devoid of them.

"Yes, they are that," The industrialist's voice was cold.

"I've made myself an unpopular man trying to have them removed and that damned stuff stored underground where it belongs."

"One good fire'll educate everyone for you," Rael told him glumly.

"No doubt, but the poor people living and working around the thing'll be the ones who foot the tuition bill."

Jellico sighed to himself. They would wind up with a brace of disaster scholars in the party, he thought sourly. If the conversation turned to a detailed comparison of some of history's grimmer episodes, it would be to the decided detriment of a magnificent meal. He, for one, wanted to reap full enjoyment out of the incredibly rich torte the waiter Charles had just set before him.

The Cargo-Master was of the same opinion. "Canuche's citizens appear on the whole to be doing their part to ensure their safety. That and keeping on the alert are about all anyone can do." He was quiet while he ate an experimental forkful of the torte. "This is excellent! — What other cargoes do your ships handle? There's scarcely a dock vacant down there."

The older man smiled. "A graphic description of folks being blown halfway to the next galaxy is no aid to the digestion," he agreed. "To answer your question, almost anything grown or made on Canuche or imported from off-world finds its way to these docks at some point or other.

"Most of the bigger corporations own the port facilities fronting their establishments. — Caledonia has the four adjacent to our plant plus two red docks for the chemicals.

— The rest are leased from the city by the smaller companies and the independent freight and passenger lines.

"The independents tend to group similar products together where practicable. Caledonia has its own longshoremen and equipment, but most draw on the city pool, and it's more economical to have any necessary specialists and specific gear more or less permanently nearby and on hand. For example, all sorts of southern-made goods and produce come in to the docks in the Cup area, right there below us where the Straight ends and the two banks meet, and the various products the north makes to meet their needs are sent off to them from there. Three large corporations pull in a big part of their profits on fertilizer alone at this time of year despite the fact that the farmers mainly use animal byproducts. Sil plants respond so well to a feeding of ammonium nitrate that a lightly treated field will produce three crops in a year in subtropical areas, two in temperate regions."

"Ammonium nitrate?" the Medic asked, frowning slightly.

"A common natural salt. Canuche has vast stores of it."

"It sounds familiar," she said, "though I don't recall the Roving Star ever carrying any. One of my brother's other ships or her predecessor may have done so at some time or other."

"I doubt it," Van Rycke told her. "There's no interstellar or even intrasystem Trade in it. The stuffs plentiful throughout the galaxy. Any planets we've found thus far who want it either have enough of their own or the means of readily making it or a reasonable substitute. As a matter of fact, I can't recall any other planet's making a real industry out of it, though my memory could be failing me on that. Synthetics and animal products have either overshadowed or entirely supplanted it in most places for centuries."

Adroo nodded. "True. It's the fact that we have so much of it so readily available that gives it its strength here, that

and because sil plants respond so well to it."

He pointed to the scurrying workers and machines loading medium-sized crates on a squat-looking ship. "That freighter's kind of interesting. She bears the pretentious name of Regina Man's and is an independent that carries just about everything she can cram into her holds or on her decks. That's not the norm on Canuche. Most skippers don't care for a great deal of diversity. They'd rather not have to worry about more than one or two types of cargo at a time. Not this one, though. She took on coring drills and the stems supporting them from one of my competitors yesterday morning, then picked up an immense cargo of small items from another—screws, nuts, bolts, nails, and spikes of every conceivable description, some fashioned from metal and a lot from sundry synthetics. Passable stuff, too," he added grudgingly, "though none of it would win any contests against Caledonia's counterparts."

The industrialist smiled at that display of chauvinism.

"Oh well, it's a sad man who can't or won't take pride in his own."

"What's she loading now?" Jellico asked, peering down at what seemed to be a scene of utter frenzy but which he knew was in-fact a well-ordered operation. "Do you have any idea?"

"Considering where she's berthed, a good guess would be a consignment of rope of various types, including twine and string. A large shipment of it was brought to that dock yesterday evening."

"You know everything that comes and goes on these docks?" the Cargo-Master asked dryly.

Macgregory laughed. "Hardly, Mr. Van Rycke. It's just like I said before. A lot of the docks're either owned or permanently leased by fairly big organizations with well- known products and imports, and similar types of goods tend to move from fixed spots. I don't have a clue about the numerous small, independent lots that go in and out every day, and if someone wants to make a big secret of what he's doing, I wouldn't know what he's hiding." His eyes sparkled momentarily. "Unless I think it's worth the effort of finding out, that is." His guests would know full well that his position gave him the power if not the official authority to do that under most circumstances if he chose to exercise it. "Like most independents, the Regina Man's has her own band of regular customers. That makes for a similar cargo mix, just about what I described, often along with some ammonium nitrate or benzol thrown in. She'll spend three or four days in port loading up and refueling, make her run, and come back to repeat the cycle. — No mystery at all about her."

Seeing that the four had finished their torte, Charles returned to the table. "Would you like some jakek or coffee?"

"Jakek," Miceal responded quickly. Inwardly, he mourned that local etiquette forbade the requesting of a second helping of the torte to go with it. That had been one of the finest examples of the culinary art he had enjoyed in

a stellar age.

"Jakek," Rael said somewhat absently.

Van Rycke eyed his shipmates with disapproval. "Coffee for me, please. Old is best after a fine meal like this."

"I'm old-fashioned as well," agreed Adroo. "That'll be | two cups of jakek and two of coffee, Charles." \

"Very good, sir." He deftly retrieved the used plates and cutlery and withdrew as unobtrusively as he had arrived.

Some minutes later, he returned with a tray bearing the four cups, which he set before their proper recipients.

Jellico sipped his. "As good as any I've tasted even on Hedon," he averred.

"So's the coffee," Jan remarked. "A special blend, Mr. Macgregory?"

He nodded. "Yes. Max's secret. We could easily enough find out the varieties he brings in, but not the proportions he uses."

"That would only spoil the mystery."

"Precisely."

Rael Cofort raised her cup to her lips but held it there

while she gazed beyond it seemingly into the depths of space. Suddenly, she set it down again with enough force that the resulting click against the saucer caused her three companions to turn toward her. "Mr. Macgregory," she asked tensely, "you said ammonium nitrate is frequently loaded in the Cup area?"

"Yes," he answered, surprised. "Just about every week.

Nearly daily at this time of year. Why?"

"Then Canuche Town is a death wish awaiting fulfillment."