"Jhux, the largest moon. It has a thin atmosphere. We could pump enough air into your rocket to live on, and wait to signal any approaching ship."

"But why go to all that trouble?"

"Besides," Karen Norsund put in, "I think I've had enough travel in a small rocket for the time being."

"It'll be better than the hurricanes here," Guthrie sighed. "Now, if you'll just let me finish about the Skirkhi—"

Trent screwed up his face in exasperation until his eyes were slits above his cheekbones. He shrugged to Karen in a way that turned Guthrie's neck red.

"All right!" the latter choked out. "You seem to want to make me look narrow-minded! Wait till you know the Skirkhi! They believe very seriously in these sky spirits. They try to buy them off, to save the village and their own skins—and they pay in blood!"

He waited for the shocked exclamations, the suspicion, then the exchange of glances that agreed to further consideration.

"Until you two came along, I was the goat. Now there are three of us to choose from, but your rocket gives us the means to make a run for it."

They thought that over for a few minutes.

"How do you know they won't ... use ... all three of us?" shuddered Karen.

"The Skirkhi have learned to be frugal. They'll save something for next season. Otherwise, they'd have to raid some other tribe or elect one of them."

"But, before then, either a rescue ship or one from the Survey will have arrived, don't you think?" suggested Trent.

"What are you getting at?"

"Well ... this: assuming that you are not exaggerating your distrust of the natives, if they actually feel it necessary to ... er ... sacrifice to these sky spirits, that will still leave the remaining two of us a good chance."

Guthrie wiped a hand slowly over his face. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Polf and the Skirkhi guards, wondering if they could guess the drift of the conversation.

"And what will your next idea be?" he demanded bitterly. "Want us to draw straws to see which of us goes out and commits 

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