“Whatever it is, I expect you’ll get a couple of days over at Moon City, sir,” the sergeant opined.

“I hope so. Meantime, I must find Admiral Dickenson, I.C. Fighter Personnel. How do I get to him?”

“He’ll be at Staff Headquarters. Go into the main corridor and thumb a lift on any trolley with a red circle on its front. Don’t take a yellow circle, else you’ll find yourself down in the dungeons among maintenance and we’ll have to send out search parties for you.”

Jason did as advised, and presently found himself at Staff Headquarters. He slid open a door marked Admiral Dickenson — Personnel, and came face to face with a young woman operating a typewriter —one of these good-looking, impeccably groomed, self-assured young women who invariably get jobs as personnel assistants to staff officers.

She for her part saw a medium-sized, rather thin, blue-eyed young man with fair wavy hair. For almost the first time in her life she had the experience of meeting a junior officer who looked neither bold nor shy, who neither called her Gorgeous nor Sis nor Babe. As a matter of fact, all Jason said was “I’m reporting to Admiral Dickenson—the name’s Jason.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” she said, with more warmth than she generally extended to junior officers. “Go right in.”

Jason went through the inner door and saluted the man at the desk. “Lieutenant Jason, sir,” he announced.

Dickenson put down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

“Take a seat, Jason,” he said, watching the young man appraisingly.

Jason sat down. He crossed one leg over the other and clasped his hands round his knee. Dickenson noted that he remained in that position without changing, entirely at his ease; no fidgeting, no twiddling of fingers or twitching of uniform. He looked the grim, hard-faced old admiral straight in the eye.

“Ha!” the old man grunted. “I’ve been looking up your record, Jason. I’ve selected you as a suitable officer to carry out a special task.” He paused to lift a questioning eyebrow at Jason.