was like chilled steel. "Keep up that clowning," he snapped, "and I'll blow it out of you with an ati-gun blast!"

Jim Palmer paled, took a backward step. "Now, look, Denton," he said placatingly, "I'm not looking for a fight with you; I've always figured we were friends. If you've got some gripe, get it off your chest, and maybe we can get it straightened out!"

Don Denton felt insanity growing in his mind. He sucked in a deep breath, never taking his eyes from Palmer's sweat-streaked face. He didn't know what was going on, could not find a coherent answer for anything, and the empty feeling it left within him frightened him as he had never felt fear before.

Less than an hour before, he had locked himself in his ship, after seeing fourteen dead men in the huts and after Jean had disappeared; and now Jim Palmer was telling him that that had happened more than a week before. Too, he was implying that Don Denton was mentally unbalanced.

Don Denton then felt the prescience of an alien presence at his back.

He whirled, spun to one side, his finger tight on the firing stud of the atomic gun in his fist.

Then, his face working in surprise, he turned slowly completely about, finally facing Jim Palmer again. His eyes went wide, when he saw the furtive, fearful steps the other was taking toward the safety of the rendering shed.

"Well, Denton," Palmer said worriedly, "I'll talk to you later."

"Stand right where you are!" There was a quiver to the trouble shooter's voice despite his iron control. "I've just started to ask questions. First, where's Jean?"

"Why she went back to Earth on the Moonstone, the larger freighter. That was four days ago. She was pretty well broken up when she thought you were dead."

Don Denton's forehead washboarded in thought. "There's something fishy here that I don't understand," he said, "but I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

"Look, Denton," Palmer's tone was solicitous. "Why don't you let Carter, the doctor, take a look at you. I mean no offense; but you sound as if you either had a concussion or a touch of space fever." He gestured comfortingly. "Come on, take off your helmet, and the Doc'll find out what's wrong."

Don Denton was fumbling at the lace of his light 

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