u to him," the interpreter said.

"No," Sheckly cried. "No, I--I'd rather not."

The serpentman nodded. "As you wish. He does not look pretty. I hope
that tonight you do not have as much trouble."

Sheckly's eyes went wide. "What do you mean?"

"In your shedding," the serpentman explained. "We will try to help you
all we can, of course."

"Of course," the Earthling agreed weakly, licking cottony lips. He
wondered how he could just stand there so apparently calm, instead of
letting out a shriek and running as fast as he could for the rocket
ship. He decided it was some sort of paralysis, the shock of finding
himself in the middle of something so alien his mind told him it
couldn't possibly be.

* * * * *

Knees wobbling, Sheckly went to the door and out into the morning. That
he had gotten that far surprised him pleasantly. The tall rocket ship
was in a clearing several yards beyond the edge of the village. He
headed for it. He thought of running, but his legs felt like rubber, his
blood like ice. He walked past the pile of drying skins on the ground
without looking at them, and he was followed by the interpreter and
several others whom the serpentman had motioned to join them. Except for
their swords, they had no weapons, he noticed. Poor Harding, he thought,
and wondered if the Earthling's skin were somewhere in the pile; he felt
sick, thinking about it.

"You'd better stay outside the ship," he suggested testily. "I'll lower
the equipment to you."

"I will go aboard with you," the serpentman said.

"But--"

"I will go aboard with you."

Sheckly shrugged, but he hardly felt complacent. He felt as though a
giant icy hand held onto his spine with a firm paralyzing grip. He
trembled visibly. Got to think, he told himself desperately, got to plan
this out. But fear jumbled his thoughts, and he could only think of
Harding back in the village minus his skin, and of what was going to
happen that night if all went as these creatures planned.

The second thought was the more terrifying, and when they were within a
hundred feet of the rocket ship, Sheckly broke into a frantic run.

"Stop," the interpreter cried.

Sheckly had no intentions of stopping. His glands told him to run, and
he ran. He ran as fast as he could and didn't look back. He imagined the
serpentman was on his heels, knife poised, and he ran even faster. He
reached the rocket ship and went up the ladder, scramblin