erhaps what I have to tell will be of no interest to him."

"If you can tell him where she is he will ask no more of you."

"She made good her escape then?"

Slow suspicion was dawning at last.

"For one who brings news you ask a lot of questions," the guard
remarked heavily, as his hand slipped to the needle-ray weapon at his
side. "Show your pass!"

Like a flash Mich'l was upon him, his hand at the thick throat, the
other grasping the wrist. Although the soldier, like the majority of
the populace, lacked the intense vitality of the technies, he had
stubborn strength, and he fought effectively in the drilled, automatic
way of his kind. Mich'l was further handicapped by the necessity of
maintaining silence. One shout, and a dozen needle-rays would no doubt
perforate his body with holes and slash his flesh with smoldering
cuts.

* * * * *

Grunting and sweating, they fought all around the rose-colored curb of
the fountain. At last Mich'l succeeded in forcing his adversary over
the low stone, and they went over together with a resounding splash.
The straining body of the guard suddenly relaxed, and a spreading red
cloud in the water disclosed that he had struck his head against the
first of the terraces that rose in the fountain's mist-shrouded
center.

Up one of the corridors a door opened, and an angry voice shouted:

"Gurka! Gurka! I'll have you in bracelets! Captain of the guard!"

"Sir!" From another of the corridors came a sound of running feet. A
command rang out:

"On the double!"

An officer, followed by four soldiers, dashed around the corner and
flashed by the fountain. Peering over the curb, Mich'l saw them, some
hundred yards away, come to a halt before an opened door. With a
thrill of exultation Mich'l recognized the tall figure of Lane Mollon,
looking like a slightly damaged satyr of the better class, for his
head was bandaged, and he was in bad humor.

"Captain!" he stormed. "I want you to put that damned louse in
solitary confinement for a year. Hear?"

"Yes, sir." Like a megaphone the long corridor carried the low,
respectful words to Mich'l's ears.

Lane continued to storm:

"And if you put another damned merclite-crazy blunker[1] on guard in
this place I'll have your commission. Hear?"

"Yes, sir."

[Footnote 1: Blunker--a blunderer, an oaf. Mechanical recording had
preserved the language in much of its original form, but new words did
creep in.]