“He took the time-sight out of the flight deck just now,” said the captain. “And if there’s another one, we can’t get to it. He’s double-barred all his cabins and storage spaces: we won’t be able to get into them even with a blastgun! Without a sight, we can’t fly her in outer space. But I suppose that’s what you required: you said to give him anything he wants.”

So what? Who wanted to ride in this (bleeping) tug and maybe get shot down?

Stabb sent the ship hurtling into the sky.

Now to race back to the base and land just before dawn.

Stabb cranked the tug auxiliaries up toward the speed of light.

I was jubilant.

Heller was off my hands!

I couldn’t wait to get back to a viewer and see how he got everything he had coming to him. The (bleepard). All the trouble he’d caused!

Less than two hours later, I was sitting in my secret room in my villa, about 105 degrees of longitude from Heller, watching his every move.

I was ecstatic! The picture on the viewer was brilliant! The sound was perfect even down to the crickets! The 831 Relayer was doing its job!

I had to backtrack the recording strip a bit to where he left the ship.

And there he was, carrying two heavy suitcases, limping through the Virginia night. Up ahead there was a farmhouse, shedding light across a barnyard.

Any true spy, even slightly trained, would have taken a wide path around it. But not Heller!

There was a growl.

Then there was a savage snarl!

A huge sheep dog barred the way!

I realized with a chuckle that Heller had probably never seen a dog. The nearest thing to it were the hondos of Flisten which, when domesticated, specialized in chewing up the whole family.

There it stood, fangs bared! It was crouching down. I knew it would charge. Good-bye, Heller. This thing is going to end right here on a hot night in Virginia and between the fangs of a dog!

With a short run to get a fast start, it sprang into the air, the fangs aimed straight for Heller’s throat!

Heller let go the suitcases.

His hands flashed out.

He grabbed the dog by the loose skin on either side of the jowl!

Pivoting on his heel, using the momentum of the dog, he sent the beast twenty feet behind him!

It sailed through the air! With a clunk, it collided with a tree, let out one yelp and lay still.

I expected Heller to run. That much sound would attract attention in the nearby house.

Heller walked over to the dog and examined it. Then he picked the big brute up in his arms. He went back to his suitcases and somehow got hold of their handles.

He was limping to the lighted house!

The screen door opened. A farmer was standing there with a shotgun!

Heller limped right on up to the porch. He dropped his suitcases. “Ah’m afraid yoah dawg ran intah a tree,” said Heller in a thick Virginia accent.

The farmer opened the door wider and Heller took the dog into the living room and laid it down on the rug. “He ain’t bleedin’ none, so Ah s’pose he’ll come around,” said Heller.

The Virginian bent over the dog. It made a feeble struggle to get up and the farmer petted it and it relaxed with a faint thump of its tail.

“Naw,” said the farmer, “he ain’t hurt none. You f’um heahabouts, kid?”

“Heahabouts,” said Heller. “Ah’ll be gittin’ on now.”

“Hell, no. Not aftah you done a white-man thing lahk that! Martha, bring some cawfee in heah!” he yelled toward the kitchen.

“Aw, no,” said Heller. “Ah be much obliged. But Ah got me an appointment in town. A fellah’s a-waitin’ foah me at th’ co’thouse. Ah’m much obliged but Ah be late awready.”

“Well, hell, kid, tha’s more’n two mile. An’ you limp-in’ an’ all. Be downright unneighbo’ly of me not to run you intah town! Ah’ll git mah truck!”

The dog had gotten over on its belly. It was staring at Heller with the strangest look.

The farmer cranked up his truck outside and Heller picked up the suitcases, tossed them into the back and got in. And they rattled off to town.

(Bleep), I thought. That didn’t go so good. It was the Virginia accent that had brought it off. (Bleep) that Countess Krak! She ought to stick to teaching freaks!

Heller alighted at the courthouse. The farmer said, “Drop by any ol’ tahm, when ya’ll comes back home, kid.”

“Ah be lookin’ fohw’d to ut,” said Heller, “an’ much obliged foah th’ lift.”

And off went the farmer.

Heller looked up at the courthouse. There were just two windows lit on the second floor. The front door was open and Heller limped up the steps. He pushed open a door.

A real old codger, dressed in black, was hunched over a desk in the space behind the counter. He had a couple of file drawers open. The sign on his desk said:

I hoped the old (bleepard) was properly in line himself. He would be dead in about five minutes.

Heller walked up to the counter and dropped his bags.

The old man raised his half-bald, gray head. “You th’ boy?”

“Tha’s what they say,” said Heller.

“Ah wondered if it would evuh come to this,” said the old man, cryptically. He came over and looked at Heller closely. “So you be Delbert John Rockecenter, Junior?”

“Tha’s what they say,” said Heller.

“That be two hundrud dollahs,” said the old man, pushing a birth certificate forward but holding on to it.

Hah, I thought. America is crooked as always. He’d upped the price a hundred.

Heller reached into his pocket. You could see the money was strange-looking to him. He turned some of the bills over.

The old man reached across and plucked two hundreds off the roll and pocketed them.

Heller picked up the birth certificate. It gave his name, said he was blond, said he’d been born at home. It had a seal on it and the clerk’s signature. The date of birth made Heller just seventeen! Heller put it in his pocket.

“Much obliged,” said Heller.

He picked up the bags, turned and limped back down the curving courthouse steps. He pushed through the front door and walked down into the street.

I turned the audio volume down, knowing what was coming.

With a roar and flame and a splintering crash, the upper windows of the building blew out!

Standard procedure.

Good-bye, you old cheating (bleepard), I said. Always give a prayer for the dead. It brings luck.

Flame was starting to gush out through one of the windows. When Terb bombs something, he really bombs it. He’s fond of exaggeration. And he always uses locally obtained explosives, too, avoiding any Space Code break. A master!

Wait! What in the name of Gods was Heller doing!

That blast would attract attention even on this deserted hill. Fire engines existed even in Virginia. In fact, they are so proud of their fire engines, they’re always having rallies of volunteer fire companies for miles around!

Any trained man would have understood. And he would have started running. Fast!

Not Heller! He dropped his suitcases. He streaked through the main door. He raced up those stairs. He bashed his way into Births and Deaths!

The place was on fire! It was filled with smoke!

Even the counter was blown over! Heller was down, right at floor level. He snaked ahead, feeling through the churning fury.

He found a hand, a sleeve. He yanked. A body was in view.

There was a carpet on the floor. Heller snapped the ends to him. He wrapped it around the old man with two quick jerks.

He went backwards, dragging the wrapped body with him.

He got to the stairs and threw the carpeted body over his shoulder and went down five steps at a time.