fired from cover, and stole quietly away while the deserter
plucked the needle out of his hide to stare at it in horror. He had a
week in which to get back to the occupied zone to beg for immunization;
if he did not, the spot would become alive with fungus, and the fungus
would spread, and within months, he would die rather grimly.

The real danger, Meikl knew, was not to the fleet but to the natives.
The spacers were cultural poison, and each deserter was a source of
infection moving into the native society, a focal point of restimulation
for any recessive kult'laenger lines that still existed in a peaceful
people after twenty thousand years.

"I think Evon will be here," the girl said too casually as they entered
the forest and turned into a path that led to the glade where the elders
had assembled.

He took her arm suddenly, and stopped in the pathway.

"Letha--you have worked for me many months."

"Yes--"

"I love you, Letha."

She smiled very slowly, and lifted her hands to his face. He kissed her
quietly, hating himself.

"You'll take me with you," she said.

"No." It was impossible.

"Then you'll stay."

"It is ... _forbidden_ ... _verboten_...." There was no word in the
tongue.

"I can't understand.... If you love...."

He swallowed hard. For the girl, "love" automatically settled
everything, and consummation must follow. How could he explain.

"Letha--in your culture, 'life' is the highest value."

"How could it be otherwise? Love me, Meikl."

He took a deep breath and straightened. "You understand 'drama', Letha.
I have watched your people. Their lives are continuous conscious
play-acting. Your lives are a dance, but you know you are dancing, and
you dance as you will. Have you watched our people?"

She nodded slowly. "You dance a different dance--act a different play."

"It's not a play, Letha. We act an _unconscious_ drama, and thus the
drama becomes more important than living. And death takes precedence
over life."

She shuddered slightly and stared into his eyes, unbelieving.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Can you understand?--that I love you, and yet my ... my...." He groped
for a word for "duty". "My death-allegiance to the ship-people takes
precedence? I can neither take you nor remain with you."

Something went dead in her eyes. "Let us go to the glade," she said in a
monotone. "It's growing late."

"_And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
Edward, Edw