e nodded, remembered she could hardly see the movement, said aloud,
"Yes, I think so. Grab some of this hardware and let's get moving."

With his nerves already keyed for night vision it was not difficult to
heighten other perceptions and catch her thinking ... _not human_.
_Why should he mind if he kills human beings when he isn't one
himself?_

"But I do mind," he said gently. "I've never killed a man before and I
don't like it."

She jerked away from him. It had been a mistake, he realized. "Come
on," he said. "Here's your pistol. Better take a tommy-gun too if you
can handle it."

"Yes," she said. He had lowered his reception again, her voice fell
quiet and hard. "Yes, I can use one."

_On whom?_ he wondered. He picked up an automatic rifle from one of
the sprawled figures. "Let's go," he said. Turning, he led the way up
the path. His spine prickled with the thought of her at his back,
keyed to a pitch of near-hysteria.

"We're out to rescue Michael Tighe, remember," he whispered over his
shoulder. "I've had no military experience and I doubt that you've
ever done anything like this either, so we'll probably make every
mistake in the books. But we've got to get Dr. Tighe."

She didn't answer.

At the top of the path Dalgetty went down on his stomach again and
slithered up over the crest. Slowly he raised his head to peer in
front of him. Nothing moved, nothing stirred. He stooped low as he
walked forward.

The thickets fenced off vision a few yards ahead. Beyond them, at the
end of the slope, he could glimpse lights. Bancroft's place must be
one glare of radiance. How to get in there without being seen? He drew
Elena close to him. For a moment she stiffened at his touch, then she
yielded. "Any ideas?" he asked.

"No," she replied.

"I could play dead," he began tentatively. "You could claim to have
been caught by me, to have gotten your gun back and killed me. They
might lose suspicion then and carry me inside."

"You think you could fake _that_?" She pulled away from him again.

"Sure. Make a small cut and force it to bleed enough to look like a
bullet wound--which doesn't usually bleed much, anyway. Slow down
heartbeat and respiration till their ordinary senses couldn't detect
them. Near-total muscular relaxation, including even those unromantic
aspects of death which are so rarely mentioned. Oh yes."

"Now I know you aren't human," she said. There was a shudder in her
voice. "Are you a syntheti