They had not taken off his parka, and in spite of the chill about him,
he was too warm. Only that part of his body covered by the suit he had
taken from the ship was comfortable; he could almost believe that it
possessed some built-in conditioning device.

With no hope of relief Ross rubbed his hands back and forth against the
wall, scraping the hoops on his wrists. The distant pounding had ceased,
and this time the pause lengthened into so long a period that Ross fell
asleep, his head falling forward on his chest, his raw wrists still
pushed against the surface behind him.

He was hungry when he awoke, and with that hunger his rebellion sparked
into flame. Awkwardly he got to his feet and lurched along to the door
through which he had been thrown, where he proceeded to kick at the
barrier. The cushiony stuff forming the soles of his tights muffled most
of the force of those blows, but some noise was heard outside, for the
door opened and Ross faced one of the guards.

"Food! I want to eat!" He put into the Beaker language all the
resentment boiling in him.

The fellow ignoring him, reached in a long arm, and nearly tossing the
prisoner off balance, dragged him out of the cell. Ross was marched into
another room to face what appeared to be a tribunal. Two of the men
there he knew--Ashe's double and the quiet man who had questioned him
back in the other time station. The third, clearly one of greater
authority, regarded Ross bleakly.

"Who are you?" the quiet man asked.

"Rossa, son of Gurdi. And I would eat before I make talk with you. I
have not done any wrong that you should treat me as a barbarian who has
stolen salt from the trading post----"

"You are an agent," the leader corrected him dispassionately, "of whom
you will tell us in due time. But first you shall speak of the ship, of
what you found there, and why you meddled with the controls.... Wait a
moment before you refuse, my young friend." He raised his hand from his
lap, and once again Ross faced an automatic. "Ah, I see that you know
what I hold--odd knowledge for an innocent Bronze Age trader. And
please have no doubts about my hesitation to use this. I shall not kill
you, naturally," the man continued, "but there are certain wounds which
supply a maximum of pain and little serious damage. Remove his parka,
Kirschov."

Once more Ross was unmanacled, the fur stripped from him. His questioner
carefully studied the suit he wore under it. "Now you w