depended on Wade to track Harror down and tear his gang apart. You mentioned that Wade liked to raise flowers. Well! Thus far, he's still at it. So for six months Harror has torn the business apart, train by train."

Blake looked through the great entrance into the warmly lighted Mono-Terminal. It was nearly deserted.

"It's a rotten shame that a cheap bunch of punks have spoiled a business as fine as Walter Ferrell's mono line," he said slowly. "It looks as though he has picked the wrong man for the job of getting Grudge Harror. Maybe we can do something about it."

Holly O'Toole whacked him heartily across the back.

"I knew you'd say that, Jeff." Something of the old fight was coming back into the Irishman's eyes. "I'll admit I'm stumped, but maybe with your help...."

The mammoth dome of Hope's mono terminal was glowing warmly under a rainbow of fluorescent light, when Blake and O'Toole entered the rotunda. Crowds jostled toward the open gates that led to the V-Gaps that held the single-tracked mono train upright when they were at the station docks.

They followed down the long ramp to the dock and waited. A mono train scraped slowly around the V-Gap and stopped. On its blunt, plastic nose a single numeral was printed—6. The train was decorated in a sleek contrast of silver and brown. Inside, porters rushed about making the train ready for its return trip south.

Once on board, Blake stretched out and relaxed into deep air cushions.

"It's a good feeling to have some luxury again," he admitted. He lighted a cigarette from his crushed package and O'Toole accepted another. They watched quietly as a few despondent looking passengers filed in and sat down. A tense undercurrent of feeling was at once evident to Blake's keen eye. These travelers were here because of necessity. Not for their own pleasure.

He was totally unprepared for what happened in the next ten minutes. A girl came in. Before Blake could register surprise, she had uttered a little cry of joy, plunked her smart little body down at his side and thrown her arms around his neck.

"Oh! Darling! This is a surprise." He felt rich, warm lips press tightly to his own, brown eyes staring lovingly into his.

Suddenly the eyes widened in surprised horror and she stiffened. Her fingers went limp against his neck. Her lips tightened. She jumped up and sank limply into the chair opposite him.

"Oh!" She blushed profusely. "Oh! Heavens, I thought...."

Blake's face burned. Blood rushed to his cheeks and emotions he hadn't felt for years came rushing back into his body.

"I—I didn't expect...." he started.

The girl had collected her wits.

"I'm—I'm sorry," she said. "You look so much like someone I know...."

Blake looked her over quickly, and decided she was the most attractive, clean cut young thing he had ever seen. She was dressed in sleek brown traveling clothes. A pert, tight-fitting hat allowed the wealth of shining brown hair to escape its edges and flow down the straight, smoothly-molded shoulders. Her lips were still slightly curved in that attractive oval of dismay.

"Do you always kiss strange men who look like people you know," he asked, and immediately realized he was being cruel. "Forgive me, it was unexpected."

A look of recognition flooded her face.

"You must be Jeff Blake!" She stood up and clasped his hand warmly. "If it weren't for that coat of space tan, I'd have sworn you were Wade."

"Dauna Ferrell," he said with a gasp. "Golly, but you've grown up since I saw you last."

Her face turned a lovely pink.

"You won't have a very nice opinion of me after what I did?"

"Forget it." He leaned forward. "I've heard you're in love with Wade. If I was fortunate enough for only that one kiss, to take Wade's place with so beautiful a young lady, my life is one kiss richer than I deserve."

"I do love Wade," she said. "But if his brother insists on throwing such compliments at me, I'm sure he's going to be fine for my spirit. Thank you, sir."

Her eyes traveled suddenly beyond him, toward the car entrance. Blake turned and his face lighted at the sight of the tall, elderly man coming toward them. Walter Ferrell had aged since he last saw him, but the snow-white head, slim waist and wiry legs were the same. Ferrell came forward, a look of cold hostility in his eyes. Then he recognized the easy figure slouched in the chair opposite his daughter. A keen smile lighted his features.

"Jeff Blake!" His hand shot out. "My God, boy, you're good to look at."

Blake was on his feet, one hand in Ferrell's, the other on the older man's shoulder.

"And you!" he said. "The man who went to riches while I was kicking around as a space tramp in every port of the universe."

Dauna moved gracefully, swiftly to her father's side.

"Tell Dad how I greeted you," she blushed prettily. "Dad, I think Jeff had better go back to the moon. He and Wade will be quarreling over me if I go on acting the same way I started out today."

Ferrell paid no attention to Dauna's outburst. Yet, the mention of Wade's name sent smouldering fires into his eyes. He changed the subject abruptly. Drawing Blake down to the chair beside him he said.

"Tell me boy, what's happened since you left? I want to hear the whole story."

Blake talked. As he related the story of his past ten years away from earth, he watched O'Toole and Dauna, seated together a few seats away. They were discussing Wade, he knew. Although he talked with Walter Ferrell, Blake's thoughts were with O'Toole, Wade and the girl, Dauna.

"Walter," he asked suddenly. "What's wrong with Wade? Has he been in trouble?"

Ferrell tipped a tired head back against the cushion of his chair.

"Nothing," he said slowly. "At least, nothing I can put my finger on."

"Then," Blake insisted, "from what O'Toole says, you've both been pretty tough on him. That is, if you're telling me the truth."

"Damn it, Blake," Ferrell exploded. "When I say nothing, I mean we haven't caught him violating any laws. It's—well, I just never had any admiration for Wade. He's what the younger generation would call a cream puff. Soft, flabby and a mind that refuses to grasp any problem fitted to a man of his age."

Blake stared out the window, waiting. The mono had pulled out of Hope. Outside nothing was visible in the night except an occasional jagged peak outlined against a cloudy sky. Troubled by Ferrell's continued silence, he turned again to his friend.

"You haven't told me much," he protested. "O'Toole called me home because he thought important things were going to take place. He thinks I ought to knock Wade around a little, but I've got to know why."

Ferrell swore softly.

"O'Toole is always sticking his neck out where it gets clipped every now and then. He's a swell Irishman, but his mountains are actually mole hills."

Blake nodded and said covertly, "Someone tried to heave a knife into me at the space-port. Was that one of O'Toole's mole hills?"

Ferrell's body jerked upright, and the muscles in his face stood out tautly.

"The hell you say!"

"Truth—ask O'Toole."

Blake's voice died. His eyes turned to slits. The coach door had opened quickly and a man had stepped inside. He was dressed from head to foot in skin-tight black leather. His eyes were covered with a flashing, silvery mask. Blake's gaze was on the small, ugly electro-gun in the bandit's hand.

"A visitor," Blake said laconically. At the same time he pushed his feet far back under the chair and braced them, like bent springs.

The masked man crouched at the waist and the gun whipped around, covering the few passengers in the car.

"Stand up—all of you." He spoke harshly and with deadly precision. "On your feet, and make it fast."

Blake waited. A low monotone of voices protested, died out to a whisper of fear, and the passengers,