land, this world. There was nothing which drew him back. He would try
to locate the spacer for the sake of the stranger; Astra owed Raf all
they could manage to give him. But the ship was as alien to Homeport
as it now existed as the city's globe might have been.

18

NOT YET--

Raf lay on his back, cushioned in the sand, his face turned up to the
sky. Moisture smarted in his eyes, trickled down his cheeks as he
tried to will himself to _see_! The yellow haze which had been his day
had faded into grayness and now to the dark he feared so much that he
dared not even speak of it. Somewhere over him the stars were icy
points of light--but he could not see them. They were very far away,
but no farther than he was from safety, from comfort (now the spacer
seemed a haven of ease), from the expert treatment which might save,
save his sight!

He supposed he should be thankful to that other one who was a slow
voice speaking out of the mist, a thought now and then when his inner
panic brought him almost to the breaking point. In some manner he had
been carried out of the reach of the aliens, treated for his searing
wounds, and now he was led along, fed, tended--Why didn't they go away
and leave him alone! He had no chance of reaching the spacer--

It was so easy to remember those mountains, the heights over which he
had lifted the flitter. There wasn't one chance in a million of his
winning over those and across the miles of empty plains beyond to
where the _RS 10_ stood waiting, ready to rise again. The crew must
believe him dead. His fists clenched upon sand, and it gritted between
his fingers, sifted away. Why wasn't he dead! Why had that barbarian
dragged him here, continued to coax him, put food into his hands,
those hands which were only vague shapes when he held them just before
his straining, aching eyes.

"It is not as bad as you think," the words came again out of the fog,
spoken with a gentleness which rasped Raf's nerves. "Healing is not
done in a second, or even in a day. You cannot force the return of
strength--"

A hand, warm, vibrant with life, pressed on his forehead--a human,
flesh-covered hand, not one of the cool, scaled paws of the furred
people. Though those hands, too, had been laid upon him enough during
the past few days, steadying him, leading him, guiding him to food and
water. Now, under that firm, knowing touch he felt some of the
ever-present fear subside, felt a relaxation.

"My