Cronus of the D. F. C.

by Jr. Lloyd Biggle

She served the coffee on the low table by the sofa, and sat back with her cup in her hand.

"You wanted information?" she said.

I fingered my own cup, but I didn't lift it. "I'd like to have you think carefully," I said, "and see if you've ever known a man who matches this description. He's big, really big. Heavy set. Maybe six feet eight or nine. He's left handed. He might walk with a slight limp in his right foot...."

She set her cup down with a bang. "Why, that sounds like Mike—Mike Gregory. I haven't seen him for years. Not since...."

I took a deep breath, and wrote "Mike Gregory" in my notebook.

"Where was he when you saw him last?"

"On Mars. I was there for two years with Civil Service. Mike was a sort of general handyman around the administration building."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"As far as I know, he's still on Mars!"

My coffee was scalding hot, but I didn't notice as I gulped it down. "I'd like to know everything you can tell me about this Mike Gregory," I said. "May I take you to dinner?"