Jettero Heller took the Grand Council order over to the green glowplate. His back was slightly to me and I couldn't quite see what he was doing. It must have something to do with his watch.

"It seems authentic enough," he said.

I kept a mild smile on my face but I shuddered inside. It did happen to be authentic but only by comparing it to the listings on the planetary file circuit could one really know. The Apparatus could forge documents like that in minutes. He was absolutely hopeless as a spy.

"But it was issued 4.7 days after I was kidnapped," he said.

I peered at the document again, over his shoulder. Yes, it was hour dated. No great trick. "We had to know we could get the right special agent before we dared undertake the task," I lied smoothly.

"Look," said Heller. "This place is pretty awful. Can't we go somewhere else to discuss this?"

"As soon as you've decided to undertake it," I said.

"Ah. Do I smell blackmail amongst all these other stinks?"

"No, no," I said quickly. "It is just that some . . . ah . . . forces don't want the mission to succeed." That was no lie. "So I am charged with keeping you safe." Pretty brilliant of me, I thought. He wasn't going to be hard to handle. An utter child where espionage was concerned.

"Blito-P3. I just came from there. Surveyed the place."

"Precisely," I said, "and with all your other accomplishments that was why you were the exact and only officer for the job."

"So you kidnapped me." The wry smile showed he thought the whole thing fishy. "Maybe you better tell me about this so-called mission." So I told him, keeping it very simple. He was to go to Earth and infiltrate some technology into their culture and preserve the planet. The way I put it, it sounded quite noble and altruistic. A Fleet officer would never know about Invasion Timetables so I omitted that.

"And you considered the best way to begin this was to stage a kidnapping?" said Heller.

"We had to test you to see if you could stand up to the demands of being an agent," I reminded him.

"So you got the order before you knew I had passed." (Bleep)! He could think! But so could I at this game. You don't live a decade around undercover work without learning the tricks. You don't and stay alive, that is.

"We would have been put to the extreme trouble of finding another volunteer," I said blandly.

"And the trouble of kidnapping him," added Heller. Then he put up his hand to stop the interchange. "I'll tell you what I will do. I am not part of your Division. If you can obtain the usual orders from the Fleet Personnel Officer, I will undertake your mission." The specter of Lombar moved a bit away from me. I wanted to laugh with relief. But I said, "Oh, I think we can manage that all right." With a sweeping bow and hand flourish, I indicated he could precede me through the door.

I had to sign the prisoner out in the lower guardroom and as we entered, the monster Heller had struck down was sitting with the rest, eating some loathsome stew. I was nervous in this place and when the beast made a sudden movement, I flinched back. And then I saw something astonishing.

The huge guard stood up so swiftly he almost knocked over his food pan. He came to rigid attention and crossed his arms on his chest in the formal military salute!

It was not intended for me. Heller casually lifted his hand in the usual reply and flashed a faint but friendly smile. The beast grinned back!

I had never seen a Spiteos guard salute or smile before. I felt eerie, like one would feel if he saw a wraith actually appear in a woods temple: something you see that you know can't happen – supernatural. I hurriedly zipped my name across the log plate and got out of there with the prisoner.

In the upper levels of Spiteos there are some rooms set aside for Apparatus officers such as I. Very plain and windowless, they nevertheless have a few comforts including baths. I used mine very seldom but it had the necessary personal things.

Technically speaking, I would be removing him from the prison by taking him to my room but I thought Lombar's last orders would provide for it.

Just to make sure boththe contradictory orders were covered, I parked the prisoner in a niche beside the lift tubes and, out of his hearing, made a call to Camp Endurance. The troops there were actual Apparatus troops. I got hold of an officer and arranged for a platoon and around-the-clock surveillance of my room and surrounding passages. I gave explicit orders they were to appear to be guarding against intrusion upon the prisoner while actually preventing his escape. I used Lombar's name to drive it home and by delaying our progress upward, they had time to post the area.

We entered the barren room. I opened a drawer and offered Heller a chank-pop – anything to take the stench of the prison away. It even leaked into these rooms. But Heller shook his head.

"What I need is a bath," he said.

I waved my hand at the wall tub, opened a closet and got out a flimsy sleeping robe. He shed his shoes and pants and I dumped them, with the sweater, into the disposal unit – they were beyond salvage.

As he started the spray going, I had a sudden thought. "You know," I said, popping a chank-pop under my own nose, "you could have made a run for it when you picked up that blastick. You were armed, I was defenseless. You could have used me as a hostage. . . ." He laughed. He had a very pleasant, easy laugh. After a bit, scrubbing away, he said, "And fight through electric gates, armed guards, mined shafts and blastgun perimeters? And then fight through Camp Endurance and stumble across two hundred miles of the Great Desert? Utter folly. Foolhardy beyond belief. I'm certain the Apparatus would never permit anyone to leave Spite-os alive!" I was shocked. He could not possibly know where he was. We had passed no windows, no signs. He had been unconscious when he arrived. He might have even been on another planet. And no one, but no one outside the Apparatus knew Spiteos, that ancient landmark, was in use!

"My Gods, how could you possibly know?" He laughed again, scrubbing away. "My watch. It runs on twenty-six different time bands as well as Universal Absolute Time." That didn't tell me anything. "And . . . ?" I prompted.

"It gives the time lag between here and Palace City and it gives the direction. There's only one geophysical feature at that distance from Palace City and that's Spiteos." I didn't laugh. I was getting sad. "Any other way?" I asked.

That really amused him. "This rock. Every wall of the place is 'in-place' country rock. Black basalt with a sixteen degree dip and a strike of 214°, Type 13 granularity. Look at it. It's the remains of a volcanic extrusion that built the mountains beyond the Great Desert. Elementary geology for the planet Voltar. Any schoolboy knows that. I knew where I was when I came to. The watch just confirmed it." Well, I was one schoolboy that didn't know it. "Strike" was the compass direction. He must have intuitive compass sense. "Dip" is easy: that's the angle into the ground. But to be able to classify rock by its visual granular structure – and without a complex analyzer-meant he had eyes like a microscope and in the comparative dark of that cell! Andhe must have a memory like a library!

But that wasn't what was making me sad. Here he was, for all he knew, in the hands of enemies just using him, and he was letting me knowthat he knewwhere he was. And he was exposing vital abilities which, had they stayed hidden, might have lulled me into a false sense of security. Now I could take precautions against these things. For a spy, all that is not just dumb, it is stupidbeyond belief. Using what he had just incautiously revealed, I could lock him up forever and he'd never know where he was!