Harskin glanced at the Rigelian. “What’s your name and rank, Rigelian?”

“Three Ninety-Seven Indomitable,” the alien said. He was a formidably burly seven-footer, covered with stiff, coarse black hair and wearing a light-yellow leather harness. His eyes glinted coldly. He looked angry. “Espionage man first order,” he said.

“That explains what you were doing near our ship, then, Three Ninety-Seven Indomitable,” Harskin said. “What can you tell me about this quick blast-off?”

“Not a thing. The first I knew of it was when it happened. They marooned me! They left me here!” The alien slipped from Galactic into a Rigelian tongue and growled what must have been some highly picturesque profanity.

“They just left you?” Harskin repeated in amazement. “Something must have made them decide to clear out of here in an awful hurry, then.” He turned to Lloyd. “Convey the prisoner to the brig and see that he’s put there to stay. Then pick two men and start combing the countryside for Archer. I want to know what made the Rigelians get out of here so fast they didn’t have time to pick up their own spy.”

As it developed, very little countryside combing was necessary to locate Archer. Harskin’s spy returned to the Peccable about three quarters of an hour later, extremely winded after his long cross-country trot.

It took him five minutes to calm down enough to deliver his report.

“I tracked the Rigelians back to their ship,” he said. “They were all gathered around it, and I waited in the underbrush. After a while they proceeded to the gnorph village, and I followed them.”

“Any attempt at counterespionage?” Harskin asked.

“Yes, sir.” Archer grinned uncomfortably. “I killed him.”

Harskin nodded. “Go on.”