The Stars My Destination

by Alfred Bester

“I must know why a question is asked before I answer, signore.” Y’ang-Yeovil smiled greasily. “And I will pay for my caution by cutting the price. Why are you interested in Vorga and Nomad and this shocking abandonment in space? Were you, perhaps, the unfortunate who was so cruelly treated?” “He’s not Italian! His accent’s perfect, but the speech pattern’s all wrong. No Italian would frame sentences like that.” Foyle stiffened in alarm. Y’ang-Yeovil’s eyes, sharpened to detect and deduce from minutiae, caught the change in attitude. He realized at once that he had slipped somehow. He signalled to his crew urgently. A white-hot brawl broke out on the Spanish Stairs. In an instant, Foyle and Robin were caught up in a screaming, struggling mob. The crews of the Intelligence Tong were past masters of this OP-I maneuver, designed to outwit a jaunting world. Their split-second timing could knock any man off balance and strip him for identification. Their success was based on the simple fact that between unexpected assault and defensive response there must always be a recognition lag. Within the space of that lag, the Intelligence Tong guaranteed to prevent any man from saving himself.