Greaseball looked over the interior and chuckled. "The boss said strip her, and strip her I did. All right, Rat, outside." He followed the Centaurian out, and pulled the ladder away from the lip of the lock. The two walked across the strip of sandy soil to the office building. On tiptoes, Greaseball poked his head through the door panel. "All set."

Roberds nodded at him. "Stick with it!" and jerked a thumb at Rat outside. Grease nodded understanding.

"Okay, Rat, you can go to bed now." He dropped the ladder against the wall and sat on it. "Good night." He watched Rat walk slowly away.

Swinging down the path towards his own rambling shack, Rat caught a sibilant whisper. Pausing, undecided, he heard it again.

"Here ... can you see me?" A white clad arm waved in the gloom. Rat regarded the arm in the window. Another impatient gesture, and he stepped to the sill.

"Yes?"—in the softest of whispers. The voices of the men in droning conversation drifted in. "What you want?"

Nothing but silence for a few hanging seconds, and then: "Can you pilot that ship?" Her voice was shaky.

He didn't answer, stared at her confused. He felt her fear as clearly as he detected it in her words.

"Well, can you?" she demanded.

"Damn yes!" he stated simply. "It now necessary?"

"Very! She is becoming worse. I'm afraid to wait until daylight. And ... well, we want you to pilot it! She refuses to risk Mr. Roberds' job. She favors you."

Rat stepped back, astonished. "She?"

Nurse Gray moved from the window and Rat saw the second form in the room, a slight, quiet figure on a small cot. "My patient," Nurse Gray explained. "She overheard our conversation awhile ago. Quick, please, can you?"

Rat looked at her and then at the girl on the cot. He vanished from the window. Almost immediately, he was back again.

"When?" he whispered.

"As soon as possible. Yes. Do you know...?" but he had gone again. Nurse Gray found herself addressing blackness. On the point of turning, she saw him back again.

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