the wood just enough to take the skin off and leave you full of
splinters. We were taking the biggest splinters out when you came to.
How does your face feel?"

"Awful," Rick said. The soothing effect of the antiseptic spray was
wearing off and the pain was returning. "Where's the balloon?"

"On the ground behind you. Scotty got to you first, and with his weight
on it, the thing finally came down." The young agent grinned admiringly.
"We had to pry your hands off the rocket. Never saw such a stubborn cuss
in my life. Out cold, and still holding on."

"Persistent," Rick said weakly. "Not stubborn. Did you round up the
whole gang?"

"The whole lot."

Lefty Camillion glared at Rick from a chair on the other side of the
small circle.

"Why did you do it?" Rick asked. "What did you hope to gain?"

The syndicate chief shrugged, but kept his silence.

"I can shed a little light," Steve said. "Some of it is speculation, but
it stands up. Lefty knew his appeal against the deportation order was
almost certain to be turned down. Within a few weeks he'd be on his way
out of the country. The FBI has been trying to get the full dope on
Lefty, and one thing they found was that expensive living had taken most
of his money. He needed cash, in other words. This was the way he chose
to get it, collecting the data transmitted by the research rockets from
Wallops and selling it."

Rick shook his head, then winced. "It's a crazy idea," he said. "I don't
know why. I just know it is. I could tell you, but I can't seem to
think."

There were sirens far away, but getting closer. Scotty put a hand on
Rick's shoulder. "Don't try to think now, old buddy. The ambulance is
coming. Plenty of time to talk when you're feeling better."

Rick nodded weakly. It was getting very dark. He closed his eyes and
leaned back. Scotty kept a hand on his shoulder.

The ambulance, led by a state trooper, pulled into the grounds. An
attendant and an intern jumped out. "Who's hurt?" the intern asked.

"This one first," Steve said. "Then the one on the ground."

Rick felt a hand grip his chin and opened his eyes. The intern was
examining his face with a strong flashlight beam.

"Messy but superficial," the intern said calmly. "I'll bet it hurts."

"You win," Rick muttered.

"How did it happen?"

Steve described Rick's accident briefly. The intern nodded. He shined
the light into Rick's eyes and watched the pupils contract. "Possible
concussion. We