sman. Name's Lanko. You seem to be a little out of place
on this planet."

"I'm not responsible to some native patrolman." Kir's face became
stubborn. "I'm a Galactic Citizen."

"Possibly. We'll leave that to the Sector authorities." Lanko shrugged,
his face expressionless. "Meantime, you'll have to accept things as they
are. Or would you rather be paralyzed again?"

Genro Kir tensed again, making an obvious mental effort.

Lanko grinned at him in real amusement. "I took it. Wouldn't do you much
good anyway. They gave me heavy-duty equipment, you know." He waved
toward a chair with his weapon. "Might as well sit down and talk about
it. I've been through your tapes, of course."

Kir looked around unhappily, then sank into a chair. "What's there to
talk about, then? You know what we were doing."

"In general, yes, we do. A good deal was on your tapes. But we need more
detail, and we've got to pick up your companions, you know. It would be
a lot better if we knew where they were."

"I don't know where they are myself. They're building up their forces,
and working for position. This is just the opening, you see. The real
game won't start for quite a while."

Lanko laughed shortly. "Frankly, I don't think it will start. But it
would make it simpler for all concerned if you'd help us find the
players."

"I told you. I don't know where they are. They don't have to tell the
referee every move they make, unless they want a consultation as to
legality. I was just keeping watch on the general picture, to see that
neither of them broke a rule, or took an unfair advantage."

"You may not know where they are," Lanko admitted, "but you can
certainly contact them."

Genro Kir smiled tightly. "But I won't."

"They'll be hunted down, you know. We'll have them eventually. Be a lot
easier for all concerned if you'd cooeperate."

"Cooeperate with a bunch of half savage natives, against my own friends?
Don't be more stupid than you have to be!"

"I see." Lanko glanced away. "All very ethical, of course. Well, in that
case, we'll have to go to work." He pulled a fine chain from a case at
his belt, and walked over to his captive, weapon ready.

"Just hold still," he ordered. He slipped the delicate looking necklace
over the man's head, squeezed the pendant, and jumped back.

"I don't know whether you're familiar with this device," he said, "so
I'll explain it to you. It's a type ninety-two gravitic manacle, and is
designed