They got up to a line waiting at a counter. Izzy handed Heller a ticket. Heller looked at it. "Hey, what's this? Pretty Boy Floyd?"

"Bang-Bang said that was your travelling name," said Izzy. "And listen, you're not connected to any of those corporations we have there. The contractors think your name is Floyd, too. And I advise you to use war paint on your face so if the Indians jump you, they'll think you're one of them."

"Brilliant thinking, Izzy," said Heller. "I'll do just that. Now listen, I don't think there's much in the way of telephones down at Ochokeechokee and I may be out in the swamp mostly. So if you call and an alligator answers, hang up."

"Why?" said Izzy.

"Why?" echoed Heller. "I should think that would be obvious. You might put all the alligators on my trail, too!"

Izzy looked puzzled.

Bang-Bang said, "Izzy, it's a joke. You know, J-O-K-E, joke, as in oy."

"It's no joke going amongst alligators and Indians,"

said Izzy. "You be careful, Mr. Jet. I'm still responsible for you."

I had a sudden thought. Raht, the idiot, would lose his man for sure. I buzzed hastily on the radio.

"Yes?" said Raht and there was a howl of wind in the microphone.

"Listen, he's travelling under the name of Pretty Boy Floyd and he'll be wearing war paint."

"You almost knocked me off this antenna."

"Don't you fall off and break those relayers!" I snarled at him.

"Wait, listen. I don't have your address, really. Can you talk me in?"

"You can't soar from there to here!" I snapped. What an idiot. What did he think he was using? A space-trooper sled? I gave him the address.

I looked back at the viewers. As you could expect, Heller and Krak were off to the side waiting for the plane, and she was crying. Women are always crying when people leave and when people get married. I can understand crying when getting married: that's an awful tragedy. But not just getting on a plane.

"I feel too bad even to be cross with you about those women," she was saying.

"Women?"

"That protest at the United Nations. The ones carrying your picture with 'Pretty Boy' on it. You use that name on tickets."

"Oh, honey, I can explain...."

"No, no. You don't have to. I love you, Jettero. You're my man and I love you. And I'm being an idiot to stay behind and not go to Florida with you. But I've got to do all I can to speed things up and help us get home. And then we can get married and live happily

ever after in some civilized place. There's a nice surprise waiting for us both when we get home. I promised I wouldn't tell you and I won't. But hurry and finish up this mission, Jettero. And I'll do all I can."

"You sit quietly and wait for me," said Heller.

"They're calling your plane," said the Countess Krak.

She kissed him and cried some more.

Then he was gone.

They saw the plane off from the observation platform and went back to the cab. She was still crying.

Oh, there was no doubt at all left in my mind that she had to be killed. Pushing him, pushing him, egging him on. And all to connect up with Royal proclamations that were forgeries. But that was not the surprise they were going to get.

The Countess Krak would be dead before Heller ever saw her again!

About half an hour after Candy and Miss Pinch had departed for work, Raht showed up. I let him in. He handed me two sets of units, Crobe's and Krak's: they were all scummed up with soot from their long tenure in the weather; I found a rag and started to clean them up.

Raht wandered around the apartment, staring at the clam shells and phallic symbols and sea foam. "Who lives here?" he said. "Some whore?"

I was certainly sick of his insolence. "If you did your duty as well as I do mine," I raged at him, "we'd get someplace. And you're not getting to Florida where you belong!"

"There's no second plane until noon," he said. "Place sure stinks of flowers. Smells like a mortuary."

That did it. "Get out!" I screamed at him and kicked him out the door.

Having abreacted my hostilities, I felt better. I went to Krak's viewer to check it. The picture was not quite as good with the activator-receiver in this low place but it was adequate. I got interested in what Krak was doing.

They had returned to the office and Krak was sitting at a white secretarial desk looking in the white pages of the New York telephone directory. Her finger was travelling down a page. She was muttering, "Rocha... Rochelle... Rock... Rocket... Rockford..." She looked up. She muttered, "A-B-C-D-E-F. E-F..."

Bang-Bang's voice. "Miss Joy." She looked up. He was sitting at the bar drinking a cup of coffee. "If you tell me what you're trying to do, maybe I can help."

"I'm trying to find the personal telephone number of Delbert John Rockecenter."

"WHAT?" said Bang-Bang, slopping his coffee.

"Well, you needn't look so surprised," said Krak. "On a civilized planet, nearly everybody has a communication call sign. How otherwise would you get in touch with them if you had some vital news about their family?"

"Well, Jesus-beggin' your pardon, ma'am-Delbert John Rockecenter is just about the most important man there is. You don't just go phoning people like that. Maybe you better tell me what this is all about." He came over, his coffee forgotten.

"It's a very simple matter. Look at this geometry plot." She got the huge sheet Heller had done and spread it open on the desk.

It was, of course, in Voltarian except for the words "Pokantickle Estates, Hairytown, N. Y.," "Octopus Oil Building" and "Delbert John Rockecenter." Bang-Bang was twisting his head this way and that, trying to figure out what all these spirals and words were. It would surely have been a Code break except that he didn't seem to know the Voltarian symbols and letters were more than designs. "Maybe you better explain it," said Bang-Bang, defeated.

"Well, Delbert John Rockecenter is the emperor," said the Countess Krak.

"Oh, I see," said Bang-Bang. "This is some kind of an idea for a new game like Monopoly."

"No," said Krak patiently. "It shows Rockecenter controls the planet utterly."

"Well, hell-beggin' your pardon, ma'am-that don't take no fancy diagram to figure out. Everybody knows that. For the last century the Rockecenter family has been taking over from other mobs and now Delbert John owns and controls all the real estate and rackets. I guess 'emperor' would be a fancy name like capo di tutti capi, but it really don't embrace all that Rockecenter really controls. He's into everybody's pocket, too. He controls every oil company and I can't fill up the cab's tank without helping make Rockecenter rich. I can't buy an aspirin without helping make Rockecenter rich. I can't even drink a cup of coffee without stuffing more dough in the Rockecenter coffers. Everybody knows that. So what's the urgent notice doing on the regimental bulletin board?"

"He's got a son," said Krak triumphantly.

n

"Well, hell, no-beggin' your pardon, ma'am. He ain't got no wife and he for sure ain't got no son. I helped Jet tear the library apart one day just making sure."

"That's just it," said Krak. "Delbert John Rocke-center doesn't know he has a son."

"WHAT?"

"Aha! So it surprises you, too," said the Countess Krak. "But it is a fact. I've got it all worked out. Delbert John was playing around-beggin' your pardon, Bang-Bang-and he got himself a son. But he didn't know it. He has a lawyer named Bury. So Bury hid the son and hid the fact from Rockecenter and as there is no heir, the empire will then pass straight into the hands of Bury."

"Jesus Christ."

"Now, Jettero is trying to Fix up the planet's fuel situ­ation. He doesn't have much time. Rockecenter controls all the fuel. Now, if I were to simply phone up Delbert John Rockecenter and tell him he had a son, he'd be so grateful that he'd rush around and help Jettero and we'd be all finished here and could go home."