"Yes, sir. It's forgotten."
Hanlon turned wearily to the admiral. "I'm minus on sleep and strength right now, sir. Think I'll go get some rest. In the morning I'll come back and we'll start searching Bohr's stuff."
"Right, I could use some caulking-off myself. A couple more orders, then I'm going home. Do you want to bunk here at Base?"
"No, guess I'd better go back to the hotel. I can't appear here too much, you know—might be recognized by some Terran officer. And that brings up a problem. What will be my apparent status before the crews doing the searching?"
"Civilian specialist, called in by the Corps," Hawarden was used to quick decisions. "We often use such. I'll sign a pass for you. Better use a disguise and different name, hadn't you?"
Hanlon nodded. "False mustache, skin darkened, contact lenses to color my eyes. And I'll call myself Spencer Newton."
Hawarden looked surprised. "You pick a name fast."
The SS man grinned back. "It's the one I was born with,"—and then the admiral really was surprised, but asked no questions. He filled in the pass with that name. "Better come directly into this private office."
When they met in the morning Hawarden complimented Hanlon on his disguise, then quickly reported he had already assembled crews and one was working at the imperial palace and the other at the ex-Prime Minister's own residence.