“Climb in,” Narvi invited. “I have to scan the area and make sure no one will see the take-off.” Lors leaped to the cockpit and opened the plastic-dome; he dropped lithely into the seat, his feet moving automatically to the rudder pedals, his hands impatiently fingering the controls. So much was coming back. So many remembrances with each second of time. He was not Nicholas Howard Danson, and he had never been! He was Firstspacer Lors of the 8th. Terran Command, and he felt his heart thrill to the knowledge of who he was and where he was. It was slow, this strange process of regaining his mind, but it was coming along. He would soon be whole again, no longer some freak caught in the vortex between two worlds. “Ready?” Narvi asked, slipping into the seat beside him and pulling the cockpit shield into place. “Ready. Where’s the starship?” “Bearing 204.5, off-planet. We’ll be there in no time.” The barn door swung open as Narvi started the scout ship and they moved out into the night, hovering a foot off the barn floor until they were outside. Narvi conned the ship, working the [p108] verti-control expertly and the little craft whistled upward at a gentle speed. The radar screen before them disclosed no aircraft in the area. Narvi grinned at Lors and shoved the speed control forward, working the elevators with his other hand and the scout ship streaked into the night sky. [p108] [p ] Home. Lors, watching the screen, saw the oblong shape of the mother ship blurp into view and called out its position to his friend. At once, Narvi altered the course, whipping the scout ship onto a collision bearing. When they were close enough, they used their signal and heard it answered. The ship slipped in easily as the port opened in the starship’s side. Narvi guided the craft in with tender hands and settled it gently on the floor. A positioner hooked a line to the ship and pulled it quickly into the repair bins. A light winked in the wall. The area was again pressurized. They climbed out and
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