CAMPBELL CLEARED SHIP. His nerves were singing in little tight jerks. He'd stepped into something here. Something big and ugly. There had been a certain ring in the Taxil's voice.
The thin, gravelly Mr. Tredrick had something on his mind, too. Something important, about Kraylens. Why Kraylens, of all the unimportant people on Venus?
Trouble on Romany. Romany the gypsy world, the Solar System's stepchild. Strictly a family affair. What business did a public enemy with a low number and a high valuation have mixing into that?
Then he thought of the drum beating in the indigo night, and an old man watching liha-trees stir in a slow, hot wind.
Roy Campbell called himself a short, bitter name, and sighed, and reached lean brown hands for the controls. Presently, in the infrafield, he made ou
