“They were put on a robot ship at Earth Station. They were gone when that ship reached Phobos. We’ve damn near ripped the boat apart trying find them—we did take the other cargo to pieces, bit by bit—and they aren’t there!”

Syaloch rekindled his pipe, an elaborate flint-and-steel process on a world where matches won’t burn. Only when it was drawing well did he suggest: “Is it possible the ship was boarded en route?”

“No. It isn’t possible. Every spacecraft in the System is registered, and its whereabouts are known at any time. Furthermore, imagine trying to find a speck in hundreds of millions of cubic miles, and match velocities with it…no vessel ever built could carry that much fuel. And mind you, it was never announced that the jewels were going back this way. Only the UN police and the Earth Station crew could know till the ship had actually left—by which time it’d be too late to catch her.”

“Most interesting.” Syaloch puffed hard.

“If word of this gets out,” said Gregg miserably, “you can guess the results. I suppose we’d still have a few friends left in your Parliament—”

“In the House of Actives, yesss…a few. Not in the House of Philosophers, which is of course the upper chamber.”

“It could mean a twenty-year hiatus in Earth-Mars traffic—maybe a permanent breaking off of relations. Damn it, Syaloch, you’ve got to find those stones!”

“Hm-m-m. I pray your pardon. This requires thought.” The Martian picked up his crooked instrument and plucked a few tentative chords. Gregg sighed and attempted to relax. He knew the Chlannach temperament; he’d have to listen to an hour of minor-key caterwauling.

The colorless sunset was past, night had fallen with the unnerving Martian swiftness, and the glowsnakes were emitting blue radiance when Syaloch put down the demifiddle.

“I fear I shall have to visit Phobos in person,” he said. “There are too many unknowns for analysis, and it is never well to theorize before all the data have been gathered.” A bony hand clapped Gregg’s shoulder. “Come, come, old chap. I am really most grateful to you. Life was becoming infernally dull. Now, as my famous Terrestrial predecessor would say, the game’s afoot…and a very big game indeed!”

* * *

A Martian in an Earthlike atmosphere is not much hampered, needing only an hour in a compression chamber and a filter on his beak to eliminate excess oxygen and moisture. Syaloch walked freely about the port clad in filter, pipe, and tirstokr cap, grumbling to himself at the heat and humidity. He noticed that all the humans but Gregg were reserved, almost fearful, as they watched him—they were sitting on a secret which could unleash red murder.

He donned a spacesuit and went out to inspect the Jane Brackney. The vessel had been shunted aside to make room for later arrivals, and stood by a raw crag at the edge of the field, glimmering in the hard spatial sunlight. Gregg and Yamagata were with him.