James Connemorra looked through the port beside Mel and at the stars beyond. "I have been looking for you long enough I ought to know who you are."
Something in the man's voice chilled Mel. "I have been easy enough to find. I'm only a news reporter. Why have you been looking for me?"
Connemorra sank into a deep chair on the opposite side of the room. "Can't you guess?" he said.
"It has something to do with what happened—before?" Mel asked. He backed warily against the opposite wall from Connemorra. "That time when I escaped from the Martian Princess rather than come aboard the black ship?"
Connemorra nodded. "Yes."
"I still don't understand. Why?"
"It's an old story." Connemorra shrugged faintly. "A man learns too much about things he should know nothing of."
"I have a right to know what happened to my wife. You know about her don't you?"
Connemorra nodded.
"What happened to her? Why was she different after her trip to Mars?"