have a dozen people who can punch
a micro-writer. Sam and I aren't indispensable. Besides, it was he who
crippled the poor little fellow."

Without waiting for an answer she called out, "Larson, where are you?"
The lucky carpenter tried to draw back in the shadows, knowing full well
what she had in mind.

Benson stared at me for a minute. He said gruffly, "Very well, if you
can talk Larson out of his cottage, go ahead, play hero!"

I didn't feel very heroic right then. Two hours later, when we had the
bullet out of Joe and had him bedded down comfortably for the night, Sue
cosied up to me in our double sleeping silks and murmured, "What a guy
has to go through out here to get a little privacy!"

Poor Larson!

* * * * *

Bailey and Sorenson set up their lab outside our cabin door. Joe's wound
was seriously infected, and none of our cautiously applied remedies
would control the raging fever with which he awoke the first morning. He
lay, apathetic, eyes half closed, murmuring, "Tala! Tala!"

The doctors seized the opportunity to launch a study of Sirian microbes,
diseases and earth molds. Sue and I took cultures from Joe's wound, and
the medics experimented with the effects of local mold products similar
to the penicillin series. By force-feeding we managed to keep Joe alive
until Bailey, one morning, held up a hypo full of clear liquid and told
us how to administer it.

Joe responded at once. The following day he began sitting up and
vociferously demanding, "Tala, Tala!"

"Must be his wife or girl-friend," Sue deduced. She was wrong. Joe began
making motions of a person lifting a vessel and drinking. When we
offered him water he refused, repeating, "Tala!" and making more
drinking motions. He tried to rise, but the pain in his swollen thigh
stopped him. He sank back licking his lips like a man dying of thirst,
and in spite of his general improvement, he stayed in a sullen, subdued
attitude.

As his wound closed and the swelling reduced, Joe's temperature, which
had reached a fabulous 142 degrees F., stabilized at 137 F., thereby
confirming Benson's prediction that the natives would display a much
higher metabolism. Sue, who had spent hours stroking the fevered brow,
had grown used to Joe's hot-bloodedness, and she teased me about my
relative "frigidity".

Until Joe got his "tala" I made disappointing progress at teaching him
our language. He picked up our words for those few i