"Of course," Calvin snapped. "What are you here for? Put it in a written report. I haven't time to listen to your mouthings. Ignorant, stupid trash that call themselves operators—can't hang onto anything—"
"Something lost?" Roal inquired mildly.
"Oh, no! Nothing's lost—nothing at all. Just that that idiot Markham let his antidote capsule be stolen and he swears he doesn't know where it could have been pinched. Oh, why aren't there brains—??" Commander Calvin finished weakly.
"Perhaps this theft explains a part of the events in connection with my own troubles," Roal said.
"Put your troubles in a report and file them!"
"Perhaps you'd be interested to know that they started in the Starhouse, that I've sat at a table with the Queen of the Silver Stars."
Calvin's mouth dropped open and then clamped tightly. "So they got even you," he muttered.
"What do you mean?"
"Your rational mind is of course aware, my boy, that the Starhouse and the Queen are only myths of drugged minds. They do not exist in reality."
"The Starhouse is right here in Heliopolis, on Transite Street, the 800 Block."