“I'm getting sick and tired of waiting,” remarked the Injun, as he and Broussard sat in his room at the embassy. “I think it's just about time to go to work.”

“I thought you weren't going to make a move until the Whistler showed up,” said Broussard.

“For all I know, the Blue Devils killed him on one of the moons and he won't be showing up at all.”

The Injun got to his feet and started pacing the room restlessly, while Broussard stared at him and tried to understand the change that had come over him during the past few days. He had grown more irritable, more restless, and had been given to violent outbursts of temper. It just didn't jibe with the cool professional Broussard had been working with, and the young man was sincerely worried about the Injun's mental state.

“Where the hell is he?” muttered the Injun, slamming a fist into the wall. “I can't wait much longer!”

“There's no deadline on killing the Oracle, sir,” said Broussard. “Or if there is, you haven't told me about it.”

“I've got a personal deadline,” snapped the Injun. “And I've just about reached it.”

“A personal deadline?” repeated Broussard, puzzled.

“Just shut up and let me think!”

“I can leave the room if you wish, sir.”

“Leave, stay—what you do doesn't interest me.”

He continued pacing the room, faster and faster, and after watching him for another few minutes, Broussard walked to the door and went to his own quarters, deeply troubled about the change that had occurred to his superior.

Finally the Injun came to a stop in front of his computer and stared at it, as if it was some alien machine he had never seen before. Finally his eyes, which had seemed wild and unfocused, cleared and he sat down next to it.

“Computer—activate,” he commanded.

“Activated,” replied the computer.

“Check all planetary databases and tell me if Joshua Jeremiah Chandler, also known as the Whistler, has arrived on Hades yet.”

“Checking ... unknown.”

“Damn!” muttered the Injun.

He was about to begin walking around the room again when it hit him.

“Computer!” he yelled.

“Yes?”

“Every other time I've asked you, you said No. This time you said Unknown. Why?”

“Because a human has landed at the Polid Kreba Military Base, and I have been unable to ascertain his identity.”

“That's got to be him!” said the Injun. “Has he been incarcerated?”

“Unknown.”

“It doesn't matter,” said the Injun. “If he's in jail, he'll rot there, and there's no sense waiting any longer—and if he's not, then he's talked his way out of a military base and probably has freedom of movement, and I've got to move tonight.”

The computer made no reply, as no question had been put to it.

“Deactivate,” ordered the Injun.

The computer went dark, and the Injun walked out of his room, went down the hall, and entered Broussard's room.

“I'm going after her tonight,” he announced.

“You're quite certain, sir?” asked Broussard, obviously concerned.

“Of course I'm certain!” said the Injun. “The Whistler has landed on Hades!”

“You're sure of that?”

“The computer confirms it.”

“The computer says that the Whistler has landed?” repeated Broussard. “Then why didn't it show up on our immigration lists?”

“He landed at a Blue Devil military base.”

“Why would he do that?”

“How the hell should I know?” snapped the Injun irritably. “He's here, and that's all that matters.”

“What name is he using?” asked Broussard.

“I don't know.”

Broussard frowned. “Then how do you know it's the Whistler?”

“Who else would land in this godforsaken hellhole without going through Customs and Immigration?” The Injun paused. “I'm going to need your help.”

“Sir, I don't mean to offend or to be insubordinate, but I wish you'd undergo a psychological evaluation first,” said Broussard.

The Injun glared at him. “What are you saying? Do you think I'm crazy?”

“No, sir,” answered Broussard. “But you haven't been yourself lately.”

“I will be soon,” said the Injun.

“You're nervous and short-tempered and you've become forgetful,” continued Broussard. “I don't think you're in any condition to confront the Oracle.”

“I'll be fine,” said the Injun, struggling to control the rage and hunger that surged through him. “Believe me.”

“I still wish you'd present yourself to our staff psychologist.”

“He won't tell me anything I don't already know,” answered the Injun. “Look, I'm going to go out there tonight with or without you, but it would make my life a lot easier if you'll come. All I need you to do is drive me to the same spot we went to the other day. I'll take care of everything else.” He paused and stared at the young man. “Now, are you in or out?”

Broussard uttered a sigh of resignation. “I can't let you go out there alone.”

“Good,” said the Injun. “We leave at twilight.”

Broussard turned to leave.

“One more thing,” said the Injun.

“Sir?”

“I appreciate your concern for me, and I realize that you have my best interests at heart.” He paused. “But if you or anyone else tries to stop me, you'll find out just how good a killer I am.”

Broussard drew himself up to his full height. “That was unnecessary, sir,” he replied with dignity.

“Let's hope so.”

They left at twilight and took the main road out of town, driving at a leisurely pace. Traffic thinned out within twenty minutes, and vanished completely after half an hour.

“None of this looks familiar,” said the Injun, squinting into the darkness. “Where are all the rocks?”

“We'll reach them in another forty minutes, sir,” said Broussard.

The Injun leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You haven't told me your plan yet, sir,” remarked Broussard.

“I know.”

“You do have one, don't you?”

The Injun patted his tunic. “Right here in my pocket.”

“A gun?” said Broussard.

The Injun smiled. “That, too.”