"You can answer that better than I, my son."

Tak Laleen stood up, wringing her hands. "You will face the force-field and our guns—but you wonder if you need weapons." With an effort she checked the hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat. "My people would say you had gone mad; but who knows the meaning of madness?"

Pendillo took the missionary's hand firmly in his. "She's tired, Lanny. Our ways are still new to her."

"And we've had her cooped up in the house too long," Endhart added.

Pendillo glanced sharply at his friend. Endhart nodded. "It is time," he said cryptically.

Pendillo turned toward his son. "A walk outside would do her good, Lanny."

"Is it safe?"

"She won't try to escape; you and I will go with her."

Pendillo led her toward the door. Her face glowed with hope. She glanced eagerly down the long street, lit by the evening fires. Lanny was sure she was looking for the nearest Chapel of the Triangle, calculating her chances of escape. She was the enemy. What reason did his father or Endhart have to trust her so blindly?

At the door Pendillo turned for a moment toward Endhart. "You'll make sure Gill knows?"

"At the proper time; leave it to me."

"Knows what?" Lanny demanded.

"That we may be a little late for dinner," his father answered blandly. He nodded toward Tak Laleen and Lanny understood.

Lanny walked on one side of Tak Laleen and slid his arm firmly under hers. She kept running her fingers nervously over his arm. She tripped once, when her foot caught in a shallow hole; her nails tore a deep gash in Lanny's flesh as he reached out to keep her from falling. He healed the wound at once, except for a small area where the germ colony needed exposure to the life-energy of the sun. She looked at his arm. Her lips were trembling; her face was white.

"So you can do it, Lanny."

For a moment he had forgotten her remarkable inability. "You mean the healing? All men do that; we always have. A 

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