"Why?"

"Because he is a percussionist and plays a molecular synthezier. Since I know next to nothing about music he is going to teach me my job in this pickup band. A19. will show me the ropes, then record the numbers and set up the machines to play the different hunks of music. I'll just smile and press buttons. Speaking of machines — does your highly secret service have electronic repair facilities on this planet?"

"That is classified information."

"Everything about this operation is classified. But I'll still need to do some electronic work. Here or someplace else. All right?"

"Facilities will be made available."

"Good. And tell me-what is a gastrophone, or a bagpipe?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. Why?"

"Because they are listed here as musical skills or instruments or something. I'll need to know."

Lubricated by all the credits from the university, manned by the Admiral's minions, the machinery of my plan began to churn into high gear. The League did have an outpost on this planet — disguised as an interstellar shipping firm-which contained a fully equipped machine shop and electronic facilities.

The fact that they gave me full use of everything meant that it would undoubtedly vanish as soon as this operation was over. While the auditions were being arranged, agent A19 was sent for by the fastest — transportation available. He appeared, slightly glassy-eyed, later that same afternoon.

"You are known to me only by the code reference A19. Could you give me a slightly better name to call you by? And it doesn't have to be your own."

He was a big man with a big jaw, which he rubbed as he kicked his brain into action. that's my cousin's name. Call me Zach."