Hesitantly, he peered over the screaming woman's shoulder, saw a man
stretched on the deck. He lay on his stomach, his head on one side,
disclosing a pale classical profile. He appeared young, little older
than Norman himself.
"I don't know," the young man replied. "Someone's hurt, I think."
He forced himself to push past the fat woman, kneel at the unconscious
man's side. What he saw made him sick. He looked away. A gout of blood
had spurted from the man's neck, dyed the green fiberon carpet scarlet.
His throat had been cut from ear to ear.
* * * * *
Several passengers, alarmed by the Earth woman's screams, dashed into
the passage.
"What's wrong?"
"Something happened?"
"Dead!" the fat woman gasped. "My God, I almost stepped on him!" She
burst into strangling sobs.
A yellow-clad steward appeared. He couldn't see the body because of the
press. "What's the trouble, sir?"
Norman stared at him. "Murder," he said in a shocked voice. "This man
has been murdered. His throat's cut."
"Murder!" repeated the steward. "I'll get the captain." He scuttled off
down the corridor. The fat woman went into hysterics.
"Who could have done it?" breathed Jennifer. "Why?"
Norman Saint Clair shook his head. He rose from his knees, feeling
weak, shaken. He had never seen a dead man before.
"Here," said a man brusquely. "I'm a doctor. Let me see that man." He
shouldered to the front, knelt beside the body. Norman Saint Clair
relinquished his place with relief.
"Powerful man did that," the doctor pointed out. "Almost cut his head
off."
With a gulp Norman looked away.
"Here!" ejaculated the doctor. "Look at this!"
Curiosity dragged his eyes back. The doctor had rolled the body over,
turned back the lapel of the dark gray business suit. Norman saw a
small green disk pinned to the underside of the lapel. It was about the
size of a dime and died out to represent one of Earth's hemispheres.
Three letters in raised silver stood out on the green surface.
"_T.I.S._" he made out.
"An agent of the Terrestial Intelligence Service," breathed Norman.
The doctor rose, drew a handkerchief, wiped his hands. He was a tall
man, almost as tall as Norman, with gray hair. His brown eyes sought
the young man's. "He must have been working on the terror."
Norman nodded, thought that it didn't require any brilliant deduction
to guess that. Ninety percent of the T.I.S. force was trying to solve
it. The entire resources of the Empire were being drawn upon to uncover
the solution. Vital trade was at a standstill, and last week the
_Nebulae_, a crack luxury liner, had disappeared between Earth and
Mars with the Martian ambassador aboard. The incident had very nearly
severed diplomatic relations between the two worlds.
The doctor bit his lip, frowned, "I wish the Captain would get here,"
he said. He glanced anxiously at the gaping crowd, discovered the
blue-eyed, black-haired girl by Norman's side.
"Jennifer!" the doctor exclaimed.
"Hello, Doctor Pequod. I didn't want to interrupt your examination."
The doctor's frown deepened. "Jennifer, what's your father thinking to
let you travel at a time like this? He should realize it's dangerous."
"He doesn't know," replied Jennifer simply. "Doctor, this is Mr. Saint
Clair. He's going to lecture in the Ganymede Seminar."
Norman shook hands automatically. Although he refused to look at the
body his mind persisted in picturing it. He said, "Doctor, do you
realize there's a killer loose among us?"
"What do you take me for? A simpleton?" snorted the doctor.
"But Doctor," put in Jennifer; "if he was working on the terror, he
must have discovered something. Else, why should they have killed him?"
"I'd thought of that," interrupted Norman. "Do you suppose we're headed
for the same fate as those other ships? We're carrying radium."
"Nonsense," grunted the doctor. "That agent might have been on the
trail of smugglers, anything. Oh, here comes the Captain."
The Captain, a brusque little man who appeared to be in his fifties,
glanced briefly at the body, said: "Who found it?"
Several passengers pointed out Norman.
"I?" said Norman in haste. "I didn't find it. That--that...." He flung
his eyes over the crowd in search of the fat woman, but she had been
carried to her stateroom. He took a breath, began again. "Miss Scott
and I were going to lunch. We were right behind an Earth woman. She saw
the body first."
"You didn't see anyone enter or leave this passage?"
He emphatically shook his head.
"Steward!" called the Captain, turning away. "Get this body into the
meat box."
"Yes, sir." The steward started to go for help.
"Here! Wait a moment. Clear these people out first."
Norman said to Jennifer, "Let's get out." More than anything else, he
wanted to get away from that body. His voyage to Ganymede was turning
out even worse than he had anticipated.
"Not you," said the Captain. "I want to see your book."
Norman could feel the eyes of everyone on him as he handed it over.
* * * * *
The Captain examined it, looked up into the pale scholarly face of
the young man. "No," he said with a trace of contempt, "I suppose you
wouldn't have seen anything at that. You may go."
Norman flushed, took his book back. A surge of anger welled up inside
him at the Captain's tone. He was of a mind to register a complaint
with the company.
"I said you may go," repeated the Captain.
"I am waiting for Miss Scott," replied Norman stiffly.
For a moment the two men's wills clashed. It was the Captain, oddly
enough, who yielded. "Very well. May I see your book, Miss Scott?"
Norman felt a sense of triumph as Jennifer passed over her book.
The Captain accepted it, scanned it briefly. "I see your father is
Commandant Scott. I know him very well. A capable man. We need more
administrators like him in the Colonies. But Earth doesn't produce the
men she used to. If it weren't for the Outlanders, the Empire would
fall to pieces. Decadency; that's the sickness of Earth. Be sure to
convey my respects to your father, Miss Scott."