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The observation deck of thePresident Marcus, this early in theship's arbitrary morning, was deserted except for two shapelessfigures. One of them was dead.

The body was sprawled in the curve of the deck about midway betweentwo of the entrance wells. It had arms and legs, if you looked closelyenough at the limp tangle of garments; it had a gray beard and a purpleface.

The other figure had neither limbs nor a face. It was black, and itlooked more like a pile of mud than anything else: a five-foot lump ofblack mud, slightly flattened at either side, with a cluster of black,stumpy filaments at the top. It moved slightly, dropping the filamentsa little toward the dead body; then it flowed away again, and thefilaments pointed straight up, toward the stars.

Phil Horitz came up at the forward end of the deck. He let the levitorpush him gently clear of the well then stepped over to the glassineand looked out at the tiny blue disk that was Earth. His back was tothe body and its watcher. He struck a cigarette, inhaling deeply, thenturned around.

He swore and threw his cigarette away, leaping forward at the sameinstant. He skidded to a halt in front of the corpse and fell to oneknee beside it. "Dead," he said. "Oh, Lord."

He searched the body swiftly, and came up with a flat metal box,attached by a silver chain to the body's middle. He tried the lid; itopened easily. The box was empty.

Horitz sighed and lifted the dead man's chin. Under the grey beard wasa deeply-indented red line that encircled the throat.

He stood up and pressed a button on his wrist transceiver. "Walsh," hesaid. "Sommers. Get up to the observation deck.Thomasson has beenmurdered."

A deep voice swore fervently in his ear. He didn't wait for it tofinish. He made an adjustment on the transceiver and said, "CaptainTooker, please. This is Philip Horitz." A querulous male voice spoke:"Yes, Horitz? What do you want?"

Horitz repeated his message, and added, "I'm bringing the body down toThomasson's stateroom. Get the ship's doctor and meet me there."

Two figures exploded out of the levitor well a dozen yards away; onebulky and grey-haired, the other lean and young. They ran up to Horitz,panting. The bulky one, Walsh, was still swearing.

"I watched him like a baby," he protested. "He told me he was going toget up at nine this morning, so I set my watch for eight.Why thehowling hell did he—"

"Save it," said Horitz. "He did. I'll take his head, Sommers, you takehis feet. Walsh, think you can carry Oscar?"

"Listen, Phil," said Sommers abruptly, "are the Equations gone?"

"Yes," Horitz told him. "They're gone."

Walsh grunted and, stooping, wrapped his arms around the black thing.He lifted it without apparent effort. The stumpy tendrils waved downtoward him, then stood upright again, ignoring him. The other twopicked up the body of Thomasson, and all three walked back to thelevitor well from which they had come.

Captain Tooker and the medical officer, Dr. Evans, met them at the doorof the dead man's stateroom. Tooker was boiling over. "Do you callyourselves Security agents?" he shouted. "Three of you, to protect oneman, and you couldn't do it. I'll raise hell about this, Horitz, see ifI don't."

Horitz and Sommers put the body down on the bed, and Dr. Evans fellquietly to examining it. "We'll find the killer," said Horitz grimly,"or else any hell you can raise will be a sneeze in a gale of wind. Youdon't know the half of this yet."

"I know that a man has been murdered on my ship," said Tooker.

"A man!" said Sommers, staring at him. "A whole planet may have beenmurdered, unless we get the Equations back."

"What equations?" said Tooker. "What the devil are you talking about?"

"The Thomasson Equations," said Sommers, "are the answer to the problemof faster-than-light space travel. Prof. Thomasson derived them fromobservations he made on the space shell this thing—" he gestured atOscar—"landed on Pluto in, last year."

Captain Tooker glanced at Oscar with evident dislike. "Well," he said,"what are you going to do about it?"

"Have the ship searched," said Horitz quietly; "but that won't do anygood. There are a hundred ways the killer could hide the Equations sothat no search would ever find them. Our one chance, I'm afraid, is toget the only witness to tell us who garroted Thomasson."

"The witness?" said the captain, staring. "Who?"

Horitz turned to look at the black, five-foot lump, with its gentlywaving tendrils. "Oscar," he said.

Oscar had come whirling out of interstellar space almost a year ago, ina thin, cloudy shell hardly bigger than himself. The shell was partlywrecked and put out of control; but by sheer luck, a supply ship hadpicked it up and hauled it in to Pluto. The newspapers had labeled itsoccupant a Centaurian, since he came from that general sector of space;but actually, no one knew. The scientists at the Pluto Station who hadsweated over him for a year had found out exasperatingly little. He hadno eyes or ears, and yet he was aware of things around him. He had norecognizable brain; he had no skeleton, no lungs, no circulatory systemand no excretory system. He got his energy, they thought, from cosmicradiation; but they didn't know for sure.

His tendrils or filaments—the stumpy, fingerlike organs on top of hisshapeless body—had no function that they would discover. They did notrespond to sound, to light, to heat or any other known radiation—butthey followed moving objects, in a dark room as well as in a light one.

He was somehow able to emit and receive radio waves. They were ableto communicate with him, after a fashion, that way. They suspected itwasn't his normal method of communication; but when they ticked at himwith a Morse sender, he obligingly ticked back. Slowly and painfully,during that year, they had worked up from 1 + 1 = 2, to 9³ = 729, tosimple nouns and a few verbs, in a code they invented as they wentalong. They could talk to Oscar, and Oscar could talk to them. The onlytrouble was, that nothing Oscar said made much sense—to men.

"That's the whole difficulty," explained Dr. Y. Ilyanov, running herfingers through her thick yellow hair. Dr. Ilyanov was one of the twoassistants Thomasson had brought along, and very beautiful. The otherwas Dr. Hugh Meers, who was bald and not beautiful at all.

"You understand, he perceives—but he doesn't perceive with humansenses or think in human patterns. Undoubtedly, he saw ProfessorThomasson killed; but he saw it—differently."

"If we could only get some scrap of description," said Walsh. "Surelyhe can tell size, for instance? If we knew whether the murderer was abig man or a little man, even that would help."

"You're thinking, I'll venture, of a particularly big man," said Dr.Meers. "Carson Jahore, the ambassador from the Jovian Federation."

Horitz nodded. "A prime suspect. The Federation has always been too bigfor its planets. They'd give anything for a space-drive that would letthem beat Earth to the punch in interstellar colonization."

"Well," said Walsh, "what about my question? Can't Oscar tell thedifference between a big man and a little one?"

Dr. Meers' brow wrinkled. "Not in the way a man could," he said."If you put them side by side, then perhaps yes. Perhaps, mind you.But—don't you see, he hasn't got one of our senses, except touch.Instead, he probably has a whole gamut of his own. Lord only knows howhe differentiates between one man and another, or between one apple andanother. He doesn't do it our way, anyhow."

"Look here," said Captain Tooker impatiently, "we're wasting time. Whycan't we just search everybody on board?"

"Have you got authority," asked Horitz carefully, "to strip AmbassadorJahore and his wife to the skin and put them and all their belongingsthrough five hundred and twenty different chemical solutions? For astarter, that is? If you have, go ahead. I haven't."

The captain shuddered.

"Just the same," said Horitz, standing up, "you're right; we arewasting time. Have you got that passenger list, Captain?"

"Yes; here," Tooker said, producing it. "I've got to get back. Ifanything happens, buzz me. And it had better be soon!" he added as heleft.

"All right." Horitz turned to the two scientists. "Dr. Meers, can youand Dr. Ilyanov make Oscar understand this much: that he's to signalwhen he sees the man who was with Thomasson on the observation deckthis morning?"

Meers shrugged. "We can try," he said. "I don't promise anything." Hepulled his chair over to the crude Morse set on the table and beganclicking the key.

Oscar's tendrils waved slowly back and forth, as if he were interestedin anything in the world but radio clicks.

Meers stopped, waited a moment, then tried again.

Tick-tick, said the amplifier.

Meers nodded. "He says yes. Whether he really knows what we want, ornot, I can't say."

Horitz spoke into his transceiver: "Central. Will you please page Mr.Abbot, Miss Acheson, Mr. and Mrs. Adler and Mr. Aguirez? Ask them tocome to stateroom B39."

One by one, the passengers whose names began with A were let into thestateroom and presented to Oscar. Oscar said nothing. The passengers,bewildered or indignant, were ushered out and a new batch came in.

They went through the B's, the C's, the D's, the E's, the F's, the G's,the H's, the I's.... The whole list numbered about 150, some of whomhad been shuttled aboard at the Jovian System, others at Mars. FinallyHoritz called a halt for lunch. Dr. Meers, pleading indisposition, hadgone to lie down in his stateroom. The three Security men were alonewith Dr. Ilyanov—and Oscar.

Walsh, munching a corned-beef sandwich, stared at the black lumpbalefully. "Honestly, Dr. Ilyanov," he said, "doesn't he ever give youthe creeps?"

She smiled slightly. "Honestly—yes. I dream about him sometimes."

Sommers glanced at her curiously. "What do you dream?" he asked.

"Well—" she hesitated. "It's really silly, but—Last night, yousee, I was thinking of something poor Professor Thomasson had said,half-jokingly, when we were discussing Oscar. He said that Oscar mightnot be a complete organism." She gestured toward the black thing on thetable. "You know—his flat underside, that he walks with, and thosecurious flat areas along his sides? He can grip with those. If you putyour hand there, he grips it."

Horitz nodded. "Thomasson showed me that trick." He reached over andput his hand on Oscar's black, glutinous side. "Shake hands, Oscar."

The hand sank visibly in the black flesh. When Horitz pulled it away,there was a small sucking noise.

"Ugh," said Walsh disgustedly.

"Well," continued Dr. Ilyanov, "you know that Oscar's space shell waswrecked. Professor Thomasson suggested that the accident that wreckedit might have wrecked Oscar too—that really, when he is all there, heis three or four Oscars linked together—"

She laughed embarrassedly. "Anyhow, when I slept last night, I had thisnightmare. I dreamed that I saw Oscar floating in space, but therewas more of him. There was another similar shape attached behind him,and two smaller ones, one on either side. He was like a sort of blackcross—with those horrible tassels waving at each point of it—floatingalong, under the stars...."

"Well," said Horitz puzzledly, "what was so horrible about that?"

"Why, I don't know," said Dr. Ilyanov. "But it was."

Horitz crumpled up his sandwich-wrappers and threw them into the wastechute. "Might as well get started again," he said. He picked up thepassenger list and read, "Jaeger, Jahore, Jessamin, Johnson."

Oscar watched interestedly as the beings in the room moved about,trailing their flaming auras. These people had strange and sometimesfrightening counterpoints, he thought, but they were undeniablypicturesque. He would have a story to tell when he got home.

One of the creatures arose and moved across the room. Its glowingsheath was bright reeve, with radiating streaks of darker gel. Inside,the shadowy nucleus seemed to be constructed differently from theothers. Oscar followed it with the waving feelers atop his own nucleus.If he could only get into syntact with that one, he thought, he mightfind out something about it. Perhaps it had been badly morloned when itwas young; or perhaps it was a different species entirely. It was hardto see, with these people.

Two more beings came into the room, one of them tall but with a slightnucleus, shaped like the one he had just been examining. He felt itwith interest, but it was as uncommunicative as the other. The figurebeside it was of an uninspiring shape, but its aura was reminiscent. Herecalled that something was expected of him.

Carson Jahore was a big man, with the dark skin and fair hair thatcharacterized his race. He was saying loudly, "—I won't stand for it,d'you hear? D'you think you can drag me and my wife in here like anycommon suspect? I'll hear an apology, or by God, heads will roll!"

Tick-tick-tick, said the amplifier on the table.

"There's your apology," said Horitz, his eyes shining. "Where have youhidden the Equations, Ambassador Jahore?"

"Whatis this?" roared the ambassador. "What equations? What's thatthing? Are you all mad?"

Dr. Ilyanov put a hand on Horitz's arm. "Please," she said, "don't behasty. We don't know that Oscar understands, remember. Let's at leastrun through the rest of the passenger list, and see if he picks outanyone else."

"I never heard such nonsense in my life," put in Mrs. Jahore, who wassmall and sultry. "Come along, Carson, let's go and tell the captain."

"I've already buzzed the captain," said Horitz. He glanced at Dr.Ilyanov. "You're right, of course. Walsh, take Ambassador and Mrs.Jahore into the other room. If they make any trouble, give them a jolt."

Walsh, with his electrogun out, herded the pair into the next room.Jahore's shouts continued for some time.

"Ask Oscar if he wassure," suggested Sommers.

Dr. Ilyanov stepped to the Morse sender and tapped out the message.

Tick-tick, said Oscar.

"Well, that's good enough for me," said Sommers, "but we might as wellhave the rest in, I suppose."

The captain called Horitz via his wrist phone, swore fearfully whenhe heard that they had bagged the ambassador, and promised to comedown later. Horitz continued to read off lists of names to the centraloperator, bringing in groups of passengers whose nervousness increasedas rumors spread through the ship.

Horitz strode up and down the room, slamming one fist into the palm ofthe other hand. "There must be something we've overlooked," he said."We've got to figure out what the semantic block is between us andOscar. I know it's something simple, I feel it; but—"

Dr. Ilyanov was frowning thoughtfully. "I have an idea," she said. "Didit ever occur to you that Dr. Tooker might be the man we are lookingfor?"

"Tooker!" said Horitz.

"Yes. You saw how jealous he is of his job on this ship. If theThomasson Equations were used, he would certainly be put out of work.To a man like that, it would be worse than death. And remember, he hasnot been in this room since we asked Oscar to point out the killer."

"You might be right," said Horitz slowly. "But even if Oscar put thefinger on him, it wouldn't prove anything unless we can find out whatOscarmeans."

"Please try it," said the girl. "I have—I have a theory."

"Yes," said Horitz.

She flushed slowly. "I know it sounds absurd," she said, "but I thinkOscar has been pointing out all the ones on this ship whocould havekilled Professor Thomasson—who had reasons to. I think he perceivesthat, just as we'd perceive a man's height, or his manner of walking."

Horitz looked at her doubtfully.

"Don't you see," she went on, "that would explain why he pointed outtwo when we asked for only one? They look the same to him—he can'ttell them apart!"

"Maybe you've got it," said Horitz. He opened the transceiver and said,"Captain Tooker, please. Horitz calling."

"Yes, Horitz?" said the captain's voice.

"Can you come down immediately? I think we've got this thing licked."

The captain walked in a few minutes later. "Horitz," he said, "youdeserve a medal. Who is it?"

Tick-tick-tick, said the amplifier.

"Maybe you," Horitz told him. He produced his electrogun and waved thecaptain over toward the wall. "No offense, but I've got to make sure."

"What!" shouted the captain, his face reddening. "Are you crazy,Horitz? Put that gun down!"

"Shut up," said Horitz, "please." He moved over to the connecting door,opened it and said, "Bring them out."

Walsh and Sommers herded their prisoners back into the room. TheJahores had subsided some time before, but broke out afresh when theysaw that they were not going to be released. The captain tried tooutshout the Jahores, and it took Horitz a full minute to quiet them.

When they were silent at last, he said, "Oscar has pointed out eachof you as the one who murdered Professor Thomasson. Now's the time toconfess."

No one said anything. Horitz picked up the passenger list from thetable and glanced at it. "All right," he said. He adjusted histransceiver and said, "Stewards' Department? This is Horitz, instateroom B39. I want the stewards who serve A deck Section 3, C deckSection 5, and the Captain's quarters. Get them down here fast."

The stewards arrived, looking apprehensive. There were five of them inall: two for each of the passenger sections, and one for Tooker. Thelatter said to Horitz, "Is there anything wrong, sir?"

"Nothing that need worry you," Horitz told them. "Just stand there andanswer any questions I may ask you." He turned to Jahore. "ProfessorThomasson was killed at a very early hour this morning," he said."According to the ship's doctor, he had been dead approximately thirtyminutes when I found him, and that was at seven-thirty. What time didyou leave your stateroom this morning, Ambassador?"

"I don't know that that concerns you, you insolent puppy!" Jahorereplied.

"Answer him, dearest," said his wife. "Let's get this beastly businessover."

"Oh, very well," said the ambassador. "I was up at nine."

"Is that correct?" Horitz said to the stewards.

One of them spoke up, "Yes, sir, I believe so. I was in the corridorwhen His Excellency came out, and it was at about nine o'clock, sir."

Horitz bowed slightly. "You have my apologies, Ambassador. You and yourwife may go now."

"Just a minute," said Sommers unexpectedly. "Oscar clicked when boththe Ambassador and his wife were in the room, didn't he? Mrs. Jahore,when did you leave the stateroom?"

"At ten-thirty," the woman said coldly.

"That's correct, sir," said the steward. "I was working in that sectionalmost all the morning, and I saw Mrs. Jahore leave at that time."

"Please accept my apologies also," said Tooker to the Jahores, tryingto curb his apoplexy. "I assure you, sir, that this was none of mydoing."

"You're not out of the woods yet yourself, Captain," said Horitz wryly.

Mrs. Jahore tugged at her husband's sleeve, but the ambassador lookedinterested. "You're in this too, are you?" he said to Tooker. "I thinkI'll stay and see the finish."

Horitz looked at Tooker. "Well, Captain?"

"I was up at six-thirty," said the captain.

"Right?" said Horitz.

The steward coughed. "Approximately right, sir. I should say that itwas more nearly six-forty."

"Where did you go, Captain Tooker?" asked Horitz. "To the control room?"

"Certainly."

"Who was on duty there?"

"First mate—Marshall," said the captain angrily.

Horitz lifted his transceiver.

"All right!" said the captain, raising his hand. "I didn't arrive inthe control room until seven-thirty. I can't account for the time,either, or rather I won't. I suppose you think you can burn me forthat."

"Maybe," said Horitz soberly. "For your own sake, I advise you to tellme where you were."

The captain wilted suddenly. "I was—visiting a certain lady," he said."That's all I'll tell you, but it's the truth." He stiffened again,and glared at Horitz. "If it comes to that, what time didyou get upthis morning?"

"Seven-twenty," said Horitz. "Well it's one of you two," he began.

One of the stewards coughed. "Excuse me, sir," he said, "but what yousaid isn't true."

Horitz looked at him without comprehension. "What isn't true?" he asked.

"You didn't get up at seven-twenty, sir. I saw you leave at not laterthan six-forty-five, sir."

Horitz simply stared at him. "What are you lying for?" he asked,puzzled.

"I'm not lying," the man said stiffly. "I remember distinctly, becauseI thought it was odd at the time. You left your room at a quarter toseven, and then I saw you come back about twenty minutes later. Bothtimes, you had a funny sort of expression on your face—sort of dazed,you looked. When you came back, you had some papers in one hand, andyou were carrying your belt in the other, sir."

The others were all staring at Horitz.

"His belt!" said Sommers. His gun swiveled to point at Horitz. "I'msorry, Phil. Drop your gun."

Horitz dropped it, and Walsh scooped it up.

"Then he went into his stateroom and locked the door," said the stewardexcitedly, "and about twenty after seven he came out again, looking forall the world as if he'd just waked up. I went into the room, being alittle curious, and looked around to see if I could see the papers, oranything. I didn't see the papers, but there was scraps of burnt paperand ashes all around the waste chute. It looked to me as if he burntthem up."

Horitz felt numb. The words he was hearing, incredibly, awoke echoes ofmemory ... a memory that had not been there an instant before.

"Burned them!" said the girl, her eyes wide. "But why!"

Sommers was speaking rapidly into his wrist transceiver, and a fewmoments later the ship's doctor bustled in, carrying his bag.

"Give your belt to Dr. Evans, Phil," said Sommers.

This is crazy, thought Horitz to himself.I'm dreaming. He took offthe thin rawhide band he wore about his waist and handed it over to thedoctor.I remember his face, he thought.His purple face as I....But I didn't. I couldn't have!

The doctor took the belt, casting a sharp glance at Horitz, and held itup to the light in his gloved hands. He took a bulky instrument fromhis bag, clipped a section of the belt into its base and peered at itthrough the eyepieces. He looked up after a moment and nodded.

"Traces of human skin," he said. "This is undoubtedly the instrumentwhich was used to kill Professor Thomasson."

"I think I understand now," said Dr. Ilyanov slowly, staring straightahead of her. "We forgot one person who had a motive ... Oscar! Hedidn't want us to reach the stars...."

She turned until her wide gaze rested on Horitz's face. "And youshookhands with him!" she said.

The nightmare boiled up in Horitz's head. Impossible things, memoriesfrom nowhere, battled with his sanity: the silent decks, the slow,dreamlike progress upward into starlight ... and the hideous purpleface, staring impersonally into his.

Raging, his mind retreated, flung itself away from the thing thatwas hurting it. He felt his body in motion, felt himself caught,struggling, but it was as if he were a far-off spectator. The wordsthat came to him were meaningless.

Walsh and Sommers, holding him, looked at each other across theprostrate body. The muscles on Walsh's heavy forearms stood out, andthere was sweat on Sommers' forehead. Gradually the struggles subsided:Horitz lay still and white, looking upward at nothing.

Dr. Ilyanov came to kneel over him. She said, "He will be cured. Andhe can't be punished, of course." She turned her head slowly towardthe black shape across the room. "But—" she said—"neither can thatthing!"

Oscar's tentacles writhed, delicately.

Oscar's tentacles writhed delicately.