ided him with an open space. A man
sat on the sand, his fists buried wrist deep in the smooth grains on
either side of his body, his eyes set, red-rimmed, glazed, his body
rocking back and forth in time to his labored chant.

"... the dark of space--"

"Thorvald!" Shann skidded in the sand, went down on his knees. The
manner of their last parting was forgotten as he took in the officer's
condition.

The other did not stop his swaying, but his head turned with a stiff
jerk, the gray eyes making a visible effort to focus on Shann. Then some
of the strain smoothed out of the gaunt features and Thorvald laughed
softly.

"Garth!"

Shann stiffened but had no chance to protest that mistaken
identification as the other continued: "So you made class one status,
boy! I always knew you could if you'd work for it. A couple of black
marks on your record, sure. But those can be rubbed out, boy, when
you're willing to try. Thorvalds always have been Survey. Our father
would have been proud."

Thorvald's voice flattened, his smile faded, there was a growing spark
of some emotion in those gray eyes. Unexpectedly, he hurled himself
forward, his hands clawing for Shann's throat. He bore the younger man
down under him to the sand where Lantee found himself fighting
desperately for his life against a man who could only be mad.

Shann used a trick learned on the Dumps, and his opponent doubled up
with a gasp of agony to let the younger man break free. He planted a
knee on the small of Thorvald's back, digging the officer into the sand,
pinning down his arms in spite of the other's struggles. Regaining his
own breath in gulps, Shann tried to appeal to some spark of reason in
the other.

"Thorvald! This is Lantee--Lantee----" His name echoed in the mist-walled
void like an unhuman wail.

"Lantee----? No, Throg! Lantee--Throg--killed my brother!"

Sand puffed out with the breath, which expelled that indictment. But
Thorvald no longer fought, and Shann believed him close to collapse.

Shann relaxed his hold, rolling the other man over. Thorvald obeyed his
pull limply, lying face upward, sand in his hair and eyebrows, crusting
his slack lips. The younger man brushed the dirt away gently as the
other opened his eyes to regard Shann with his old impersonal stare.

"You're alive," Thorvald stated bleakly. "Garth's dead. You ought to be
dead too."

Shann drew back, rubbed sand from his hands, his concern dampened by the
other's