e paused, glanced toward the
detector set, and tapped on the map again, then slowly traced out an
area.

"We should be picking up something pretty soon," he said, thoughtfully.
"Better set up a pattern around here, in the mountain ranges, Banasel.
We can worry about settled areas later."

* * * * *

A needle flickered, rose from zero, then steadied.

Somewhere, back of the instrument panel, a tiny current actuated a micro
relay, and an alarm drop fell.

As the warning buzz sounded, both Lanko and Banasel looked over at the
detector panel.

"Well, it's about time." Lanko leaned to his right, setting switches. A
screen lit up, showing a faint, red dot. He touched the controls,
bringing the dot to center screen, then checked the meters.

"Not too far," he remarked. "A little out of normal range, though. He
must have all his screen power on."

Banasel turned back to the workbench, studied the labels on the drawers
for a moment, then opened one.

"Guess we'll need a can opener?"

"We might. If he's aboard, we may have to get a little rough." Lanko
leaned back.

"Check the power pattern. Sort of like to know what we're running into
before we commit ourselves." He glanced again at the indicators, then
poked at switches.

"In fact, I think we'd better wait right here, till we get this boy
identified."

Banasel was whistling tunelessly as he set up readings on a computer.
Finally, he poked the activator bar, and watched as the machine spat out
tape. Above the tape chute, a series of graphs indicated the
computations, but Banasel ignored them, feeding the tape into another
machine.

"I suppose there are some characters who could make a positive
identification from the figures and curves. But I'm just a beginner.
That's why they furnish integrator directories, I guess."

Lanko smiled. "I don't know anything, either," he agreed. "But I
generally know where I can look up what I need." He set a compact reel
of tape into the computer.

They watched the directory as its screens glowed. Figures and
descriptions shimmered, and there was a rapid ticking. A sheet flowed
out toward them, and Banasel tore it off as the ticks ceased.

"Type seventeen screens," he read. "Probably Ietorian model Nan
fifty-seven generators. Strictly a sportster setup. He's got
electromagnetics and physical contact screens, but there's nothing else.
And, with the type of readings I've got here, I'd say he's r