s of stagnant
water and festering slime heaved sluggishly with oily bubbles of marsh
gas that burst audibly in the hanging silence. The liverish blaze of
Falakian sun bore down mercilessly from the crater's rim.

They moved on to skirt a small lead-colored lake in the center of the
valley, a stagnant seepage-basin half obscured by floating scum. Its
steaming mudflats were littered with rotting yellowed bones and
supported the first life they had seen, an unpleasant scurrying of small
multipedal crustaceans and water-lizards.

"There can't be any survivors _here_," Farrell said, appalled by the
thought of his kind perpetuating itself in a place like this. "God,
think what the mortality rate would be! They'd die like flies."

"There are bound to be a few," Stryker stated, "even after a hundred
years of slavery and another hundred of abandonment. The human animal,
Arthur, is the most fantastically adaptable--"

He broke off short when they rounded a clump of reeds and stumbled upon
their first Falakian proof of that fantastic adaptability.

* * * * *

The young woman squatting on the mudflat at their feet stared back at
them with vacuous light eyes half hidden behind a wild tangle of matted
blonde hair. She was gaunt and filthy, plastered with slime from head to
foot, and in her hands she held the half-eaten body of a larger
crustacean that obviously had died of natural causes and not too
recently, at that.

Farrell turned away, swallowing his disgust. Gibson, unmoved, said with
an aptness bordering--for him--on irony: "Too damned adaptable, Lee.
Sometimes our kind survives when it really shouldn't."

A male child of perhaps four came out of the reeds and stared at them.
He was as gaunt and filthy as the woman, but less vapid of face.
Farrell, watching the slow spark of curiosity bloom in his eyes,
wondered sickly how many years--or how few--must pass before the boy was
reduced to the same stupid bovinity as the mother.

Gibson was right, he thought. The compulsion to survive at any cost
could be a curse instead of an asset. The degeneracy of these poor
devils was a perpetual affront to the race that had put them there.

He was about to say as much when the woman rose and plodded away through
the mud, the child at her heels. It startled him momentarily, when he
followed their course with his eyes, to see that perhaps a hundred
others had gathered to wait incuriously for them in the