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disembark.
    This time, however, the plane carried something more than the usual cargo. Even as the crates were being unloaded from the back, the passenger door opened and a ramp extended to the ground.
    Marching in single file, Sergeant Brody’s eight carefully selected security guards disembarked from the plane.
    Seventh in line was the spy named Ramon Korbuscek.
    Korbuscek seemed to fit perfectly with the seven other men as they marched to their new quarters. But then, it was one of his gifts to be able to blend in almost anywhere. The only difference between him and the others was the constant movement of his eyes back and forth as he memorized small details of his new territory.
    While it would have been hard to quantify exactly, Korbuscek knew he was probably seeing at least twice as much as any other man in the line. Not things they couldn’t see; just things they didn’t bother to see. He had learned long ago that his life depended on such details. Combined with a fierce and powerful mind and a ruthless devotion to a cause—whatever cause happened to be paying him at the moment—his talent for observing, retaining, and interpreting details was part of what made him one of the highest paid agents in international intelligence.
    The group turned right and entered a medium-sized building, where the guard on duty assigned them to their quarters. Korbuscek was pleased: only two men to a room. That meant he would have a lot of privacy.
    He would have even more once he got his roommate transferred to another room—or thrown off the island altogether.
    He threw his duffel bag at the foot of the bed and stretched out on the mattress.
    â€œI’m going for a cup of coffee,” said his new roommate. “Want to come along?”
    Korbuscek shook his head. “I’m going to sack out for a while,” he said, feigning a yawn. “With my luck, I’ll have night patrol—starting tonight!”
    The other man shrugged. “Suit yourself. But don’t forget we’ve got a meeting with the island bigwigs in two hours.”
    â€œAlmost slipped my mind,” lied Korbuscek, who in reality never forgot anything. “Wake me if I’m asleep, would you?”
    The other man grinned. “Sure. No sense in getting off to a bad start.”
    He closed the door behind him as he left the room. His roommate seemed a tad strange. Even so he had a feeling he was going to like him. This was not surprising. Ramon Korbuscek could make almost anyone like him, if it suited his purposes.
    Lying on his bunk, Korbuscek mentally reviewed the layout of the island as he had seen it so far. Then he closed his eyes and repeated to himself the instructions about his mission—instructions having to do with a certain Dr. Leonard Weiskopf, and a robot named Euterpe.

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    The Music of the Spheres
    â€œWe’ve gotta do something about Brody’s robots,” said Roger, pacing back and forth across the living room of the gang’s headquarters. “Those things could really slow down our work!”
    â€œYou’re not kidding,” said Hap fervently. “I almost fell over when Brody told you he had ordered another twenty-five of those monstrosities. The man is sick!”
    â€œHe reads too much cheap science fiction!” yelled Wendy from the kitchen, where she was cooking a burger. “It’s warped his mind!”
    Wendy was the reason the gang even had a functioning kitchen. Once they realized how cranky she got if she had to endure what she referred to as “the endless time from one meal to another” without gorging on something in between, they had restored the stove and sink to working order for their own protection.
    Ray, who was sitting on his basketball, was about to make a point when Rachel burst through the door. “Have I got news for you guys!” she shouted.
    â€œWill it keep?” asked Roger. “We’ve got