I really slept,” I said. “Like a rock. Thirsty.”

“The same. I’ll get some juice and a couple of glasses.”

“Great idea.”

I had scribbled the note by the time he came back, slipped it to him when I took the glass. He opened it behind the pitcher, read it.

Place bugged. What do we do?

He nodded as he passed me my glass of juice.

“Thanks,” I said, watching him turn over the note and write on the back. I don’t know if there were optical bugs as well as the audio ones. Until we found out we had to act as though there were. I kept the note in my palm when I read it.

Steengo much concerned. Left these for you before we went to the show.

I finished the juice, put my glass down, lifted my eyebrows quizzically. He pointed quickly at his closed fist. When he stood and passed me he dropped something small into my lap. I waited a minute before I poured more juice, drank it, sat back with my hand in my lap. Two small, soft objects. Familiar. I rubbed my nose and glanced at them.

Filter nose plugs. For neutralizing gas. Steengo had known something – or guessed something. He also knew how affected I had been by the sessions in the Veritorium. He had suspected that something physical, not just the training session itself, had gotten to me.

Of course! Obvious by hindsight. I knew of a dozen hypnotic gases that lowered the ability to think clearly, that left the brain open to outside influences. So it hadn’t been emotion but plain old chemistry that had carried me away. Steengo had suspected this-but why hadn’t he told me? Depressingly, I realized that the state of mind I had been in, probably caused by drugs in the earlier session, rendered that impossible. He knew he couldn’t tell me. But had been suspicious enough to wear the plugs himself.

And when he saw me getting deeply involved in the ritual he had interrupted before it was too late, had brought the whole thing to a screeching halt. I felt my teeth grating together and forced myself to stop.

He had talked about mother and the key under her pillow to these people who denied that women even existed!

With the realization of the enormity of his crime in the eyes of the Paradisians I felt a sudden overwhelming fear for his safety. Would they kill him – or worse – had they killed him already? They were certainly capable of anything, I was sure now of that.

What next? Communication with our backup team in the spacer above was very much in order. I had to get into the open, away from the bugs, and contact Tremearne. Bring him up to date. Something had happened to Steengo. And the rest of us surely were in danger as well-and Madonette, this might affect her. This entire affair was getting a nasty and dangerous edge to it.

And thinking about dangerous, there was the other dangerous always hanging over my head. My computer flashed me the highly unwelcome message of a flickering red nine. I had been asleep longer than I had realized.

Artifact or no I was just nine days away from my personal destiny. When I had first heard the thirty-day deadline on the poison I had not been too concerned. Thirty days is a lot of time. I thought.

Nine days was definitely not a lot of time at all. And with Steengo suddenly vanished I had more problems, not less.

“Going for a run,” I called out to Floyd, leaping to my feet in a spasm of fear-sponsored energy. “Feel logy after all that sleep. Got to clear my head.”

I slammed out the door and down the road even as he was answering. Taking a different route from my usual one – then changed direction at random. Up ahead was a field of polpettone trees, laid out in neat rows and bulging with fruit. I jogged into a path beside the trees, looking around as I ran. No one in sight. There was little chance the Paradisers would put bugs in among the trees.

But they could have. I turned into a freshly plowed field and ran between the furrows. I should be safe enough here. I clamped my jaw twice.

“Hello, Tremearne, are you there?”

“Very much so, Jim. We have all been awaiting your report. Can you tell us what is happening-the recorder is running.”

I jogged in position for a bit, then bent to tie my shoe then gave up and just sat on the ground while I finished the detailed report. I was tired; the chemicals still kicking around in my system had not been kind to me.

“That’s it,” I finished. “Steengo is gone. Might be dead…”

“No. I can reassure you on that score. A few hours ago we had a radio message from him, just a few words, theca contact was lost again. He must be somewhere deep in the city, behind walls the radio signals can’t penetrate. He might have been moved from one site to another, was in the open long enough for a brief transmission.”

“What did he say?”

The recording was brief and scratchy. Beginning with static and dying in static. But it was pure Steengo all right.

“…never enough! When I get my fingers on you, you… “ The next word was hard to make out-but I could think of a half dozen that filled the bill.

“What do you think we should do? Break out of here?”

“No-go along with everything. You will be contacted.”

“Contacted? By whom, what, which? Come in, Tremearne.

There was no answer. I rose and brushed off my shorts. Very mysterious. Tremearne was up to something-but he was not talking about it. Must be worried about eavesdroppers. Maybe he knew something that I didn’t.

I started back at a slow run, changed that to a fast walk. To a slow walk, then a crawl. If there had been any farther to go I would probably have done it on all fours. As it was I stumbled into our quarters and collapsed, gasping, onto the couch. Floyd looked astonished.

“You look like you’ve been dipped and rolled.”

“I feel even worse than that. Water, quickly, lots of it!”

I drank until I was sloshing, then sipped a little bit more, handed the glass weakly back.

“Knocked myself out. Be a good buddy and get my pack. I got some vitamin pills there should pick me up.” When he handed me the pack I clicked out a couple of Blast-offs, superuppers, and swallowed one. “Vitamins, good for you,” I said as I passed one over. Floyd was a little faster off the mental mark lately and did not ask any questions.

Our timing was pretty good. The wave of good feeling and energy was washing away my almost-terminal fatigue when Veldi threw open the door.

“On your feet!” he called out. I did not move.

“Veldi,” I said. “Old and trusted servant. No soft knock? No sweet tones…”

“The word is out that you Stainless Steel Rats are just plain rats. Troublemakers. Just get going.”

There was the quick thud-thud of marching feet and Sergeant Ljotur came in with an armed squad of soldiers. Armed with wicked-looking spears with gleaming points and barbed shafts.

“You are to come with me!” he ordered. He did not look happy about it.

“No longer a musical fan, Ljotur?” I said, climbing slowly to my feet.

“I have orders.” Orders that he obviously did not like. Which of course he would obey since independent thought had never been encouraged in the military. Floyd followed me out and the squad formed up. Four in front, four in back of us. Ljotur checked the formation, nodded, took position in front and raised his spear.

“Forward-burtu!”

We burtu’ed at a slow trot, down the road and turned right at the corner. Which put us directly on the route to the red brick lodgings where Iron John lurked, as I remembered from our first visit. Trotted down the road and into a tunnel under a, row of buildings. One of the guards to the rear tapped me on the shoulder.

“Give me a hand, will you?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Then swung sideways and planted his fist in the stomach of the guard next to him. Who folded and dropped without a sound.