luminous sky and his grip tightened on his knife as he slid noiselessly out of the crevice. He recognized Klev just in time. Then he stared and sheathed his knife again, for the Martian presented a picture of battered dejection. His face was shapeless, one eye almost closed by a pinkish swelling, and the crest atop his head was even more tattered than before. His shoulders seemed smaller, and Nick saw they were bare. His varlu was gone, and the other voras of his clothing were shredded and damaged. At a rising hum from the south he made frantic gestures and the old Martian stumbled toward the hidden crevice, dragging one leg as though it were partially paralyzed. Nick saw he could never reach shelter before the patrol rocket sighted him. He leaped forward, seized the Martian in both arms and carried him bodily the few steps to the protecting nook, dropping him and throwing himself flat just as the silvery hull appeared over the rim of the bowl. Susan awakened with a startled outcry but had the presence of mind to remain motionless until the rocket had roared away. "We'll have to watch out for them constantly," Nick warned. "They'll gun or bomb anything that moves." "Klev, what happened to you?" Susan asked anxiously as she saw the Martian's condition. He grimaced as he tried to sit up, his injuries not helped by Nick's necessarily rough treatment. Then he chirped a few sentences. "Oh Klev! You shouldn't have done it," she protested in English. "What is it?" Nick wanted to know. "The Council voted to attack Central Camp, using their voras as weapons. Klev tried to warn them it would be suicide, and he and Merlo fought. Merlo is much younger, and although he has the Plague he's still strong. Then he accused Klev of treachery because he was friendly to us, and had him exiled to the surface too." The injured, beaten Martian touched Sue's hand and chirped a few words as though in apology. "When will they attack?" Nick asked. "Nineteen days from now," Susan translated the Martian's answer. "How?"
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