was moving at a brisk
pace despite the apparently leisurely movements of the dak between the
shafts. The ponderous ten-foot strides ate up distance.

He was conscious of a hunger that was beyond discomfort, and a thirst
that left his mouth dry and cottony. It was as though he hadn't eaten or
drunk for days. He felt utterly spent, drained beyond exhaustion. He was
in no shape to do anything, and unless he managed to find food and drink
pretty soon, he would be easy pickings for IC.

* * * * *

He looked around the cart, but there was nothing except the canes on
which he lay. There wasn't even any of the foul porridgelike mess that
the natives called food, since native workers didn't bother about eating
during working hours.

He turned over slowly, feeling the hard canes grind into his body as he
moved. He kept thinking about food--about meals aboard ship, about
dinners, about Earth restaurants, about steak, potatoes, bread--solid
heartening foods filled with proteins, fats and carbohydrates.

Carbohydrates--the thought stuck in his mind for some reason. And then
he realized why.

The canes he was lying on in in the cart were sugar cane! He had never
seen them on Earth, but he should have expected to find them out
here--one of Earth's greatest exports was the seeds from which beet and
cane sugar were obtained.

He pulled a length of cane from the pile and bit into one end. His
depleted body reached eagerly for the sweet energy that filled his
mouth.

With the restoration of his energy balance came clearer and more logical
thought. It might be well enough to make IC spend valuable time looking
for him, but such delaying actions had no positive value. Ultimately he
would be caught, and his usefulness would disappear with his death. But
if he could get word to the Patrol, this whole business could be
smashed.

Now if he made a big enough disturbance--it might possibly even reach
the noses of the Patrol. Perhaps by working through the hundred or so
tourists in Vaornia and Lagash, he could--

That was it, the only possible solution. The IC might be able to get rid
of one man, but it couldn't possibly get rid of a hundred--and somewhere
in that group of tourists there would be one who'd talk, someone who
would pass the word. IC couldn't keep this quiet without brainwashing
the lot of them, and that in itself would be enough to bring a Patrol
ship here at maximum blast.

He chuckled