a very beautiful woman--but I am not in love with her. I am
afraid I cannot oblige you with a motive, Commander--either for killing
Lieutenant Mellon or yourself."

"I thought not," Mike said. "Your statement alone, of course, wouldn't
make it true. But we have already shown that the killer had to be on
good terms with Mellon in order to borrow his books and slip a drug into
his wine. He would have to be a visitor in Mellon's quarters. And,
considering the strained relations between the two of you, I think that
lets you out, Jake."

Von Liegnitz nodded his thanks without changing his expression.

"But there was one thing that marked these attempts. I'm sure that all
but one of you has noticed it. They are incredibly, childishly sloppy."
Mike paused to let that sink in before he went on. "I don't mean that
the little details weren't ingenious--they were. But the killer never
stopped to figure out the ultimate end-point of his schemes. He worked
like the very devil to convince Snookums that it would be all right to
kill me without ever once considering whether Snookums would do it or
not. He then drugged Mellon's wine, not knowing whether Mellon would try
to kill me or someone else--or anyone at all, for that matter. He got a
dream in his head and then started the preliminary steps going without
filling in the necessary steps in between. Our killer--no matter what
his chronological age--does _not_ think like an adult.

"And yet his hatred of me was so great that he took the chances he has
taken, here on the _Brainchild_, where it should have been obvious that
he stood a much better chance of being caught than if he had waited
until we were back on Earth again.

"So I gave him one more chance. I handed him my life on a platter, you
might say.

"He grabbed the bait. I now own a spacesuit that would kill me very
quickly if I went out into that howling, hydrogen-filled storm outside."
Then he looked straight at the killer.

"Tell me, Vaneski, are you in love with your half sister? Or is it your
half brother?"

Ensign Vaneski had already jumped to his feet. The grimace of hate on
his youthful face made him almost unrecognizable. His hand had gone into
a pocket, and now he was leaping up and across the table, a singing
vibroblade in his hand.

"_You son of a bitch! I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!_"

Mike the Angel wasn't wearing the little gadget that had saved his life
in Old Harry's shop. All he had were his ha