get back to that spaceship."

"How? Even if we got past the guards, we could never find our way back to that air-lock." Ric laughed bitterly. "Direction is meaningless in this crazy world!"

Then he was strangely silent, as his mind struggled on the threshold of an idea. There was something Kueelo had said, in his boastful mood, something Ric should have remembered. Something....

But Ric couldn't recall it now. Events had happened too swiftly. The more he tried to grasp the idea the more it eluded him. At last his weary mind gave it up, and he sank into a sleep of exhaustion.

He was awakened roughly and looked up to see Kueelo. Tal and Praana were already up, and some Phobian servants were bringing breakfast in to them.

"You won't find existence here too hard," Kueelo told them, "so long as you do as you're told. Eat your breakfast, then you, Tal Horan, will accompany me, and you, Ric Martin, will go with Naric to the spore-fields. As for Praana ... Gorak wishes to confer further with her."

Tal Horan glanced at her anxiously, but Praana whispered, "It's all right, Tal, I can take care of myself; and I may be able to help!"

Ric accompanied Naric, and they reached the spore-fields where groups of Phobians were already beginning the day's work. Ric was given a leather hood that came over his head and around his neck, and soft leather gloves.

He went to work slowly, methodically, following the example of the others. The roots of the growth, he found, were embedded deep. It clung tenaciously. And soon, even through his clothes, through the protecting gear, he could feel faint radiations at work on his skin.

Before an hour had passed, it began to take its toll of him. Sweat was in his eyes, but he did not mind that. Much worse, something seemed to be happening to his metabolism. His blood moved sluggishly in his veins, as a terrible impassivity gripped him. Almost it was as though essential salts within his body were being dissolved, to slow up cellular activity! Ric paused to stare around at the phosphorescent glow that clung about the place like a ghastly pall.

A group of Phobians moved toward him, pushing one of the half-filled carts. Ric watched them dully, feeling only a desire to give up, to sink down into the lichen growth that came about his ankles. To move, even to think, was an 

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