very nose. He'd set up a camera and flash-bulb and trigger-string off where the dew-god roared even now and he, Fahnes, had a photograph of a dew-god.

The blinding flash of the flash-bulb had startled it. It had crashed into a jungle-tree in its flight. And at the scene of the accident--the crystal was in the pocket of Fahnes' sleeping-suit--he'd found a memento of Honkie religion. It had been torn from the headdress of the dew-god. The photograph of the dew-god told how many more such mementos the dew-god wore in his headdress. So Fahnes had planned murder for this morning, and was still in two minds about its necessity. The prospects before him were enough to make a man giddy.

But he wasn't giddy. His plan was carefully worked out. It was so brilliant that he'd honestly regretted that nobody would ever know how magnificent it had been. But there'd been two breaks--one a space-radio message and the other this decision of Boles' to make the trip. Fahnes could leave Boles alive to realize his situation, if he chose. When Boles came back, six days from now, he'd understand. Not completely, perhaps, but a memento--a small one, left on a stick where he'd be sure to see it--would enable him to piece out the story bit by bit as he tried hopelessly to live until another ship came to rebuild human trade on Oryx.

Boles was festooned with all the impedimenta that regulations said should be carried on any journey on Oryx. It was still dead-dark outside. The dew-god still roared, though more faintly now.

"All right," said Boles curtly. "I'm off. Mind, you stick to regulations while I'm gone!"

"Just which ones do you think I'm planning to break?" asked Fahnes ironically. "The ones about leaving native women alone?"

Boles shook his head, unsmiling. Oryx females, with a greenish, semi-chitinous skin, were definitely not appealing to humans.

"Nope," said Boles heavily. "But you ain't got the right attitude. Regulations got sense behind 'em--even the Honkie regulations that they think are religion. Maybe I'd better--" He hesitated, and Fahnes knew coldly that Boles' life hung in the balance without his knowing anything at all about it. "Oh, well," Boles said at last, and thereby removed the need for murder. "I guess you'll make out. So long."He went out of the door and closed it behind him. Fahnes heard small
splashings in between the dew-god's roarings. There was never any rain
on Oryx. Never. So by dawn the jungle-trees were coated 

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