The bouncing flywheel hadn’t reached the control cone.

Things lighted up when I turned on the communications board. I had to manipulate switches with the heel of my hand. I turned on everything that looked like it had something to do with communications, rolled all the volume knobs to maximum between my palms, and let it go at that, making no attempt to aim a com laser, talk into anything, or tap out code. If anything was working on that board—and something was delivering power, even if the machinery to use it was damaged—then the base would get just the impression I wanted them to have. Someone was trying to communicate with broken equipment.

So I settled myself in the control cone and smoked. Using my toes was less painful than trying to hold a cigarette in my fingers. I remembered how shocked Sharrol had been the first time she saw me with a cigarette between my toes. Flatlanders are less than limber.

Eventually someone came.

I picked up the open bulb of glass that Margo had called a snifter and held it before me, watching the play of light in the red-brown fluid. It was a pleasure to use my hands. Twelve hours ago they had been useless, swollen, and blackening—like things long dead.

“To the hero’s return,” said Margo. Her green eyes sparkled. She raised the snifter in a toast and drank.

“I’ve been in a ’doc the past twelve hours,” I said. “Fill me in. Are we going to get Lloobee back?”

“Lloobee and your friend, too.” Satisfaction was rich in her voice; she was almost purring. “The kidnappers settled for a contract of amnesty and antipublicity, with a penalty of ten thousand stars to the man who causes their names to be published anywhere in known space. Penalty to apply to every man, woman, and child on Gummidgy—you and me included. They insisted we list the names. Did you know there are half a million people on Gummidgy?”

“That’s a big contract.”

“But they never made a tenth star. They were lucky to get what they did. With their ship wrecked, they’re trapped here. Lloobee and your friend should be arriving any minute.”

“And Bellamy’s death should satisfy Kdatlyno honor.”

“Mm hm.” She nodded, happy, relaxed. What an actress she could have been! How nice it would have been to play along…

“I didn’t kill him deliberately,” I said.

“You told me.”

“That leaves us only one loose end.”

She looked up over the snifter. “What’s that?”

“Persuading Emil to leave you out of it.”

She dropped the snifter. It hit the indoor grass rug and rolled under the coffee table while Margo stared at me as at a stranger. Finally she said, “You’re hard to read. How long have you known?”

“Practically since your friends took Lloobee. But we weren’t sure until we knew Bellamy really had him. You’d lied about his ship.”

“I see.” Her voice was flat, and the sparkle in her eyes was a long forgotten thing. “Emil Horne knows. Who else?”