even quiver at the trenchant bite of the
surgeon's tools. Von Steiffel and his aides, meticulously covered with
sterile gowns, hoods, and gloves, worked in most rigidly aseptic style;
deftly and rapidly closing the ghastly wounds inflicted by the weapons
of the hexans.

"Hi, Brandon," the surgeon grunted as he straightened up, the work
completed. "I did not use much antiseptic on him. Because of possible
differences in blood chemistry and in ignorance of his native bacteria,
I depended almost wholly upon asepsis and his natural resistance. It is
a good thing that we did not have to use an anaesthetic. He is in bad
shape, but if we can feed him successfully, he may pull through."

"Feed him? I never thought of that. What d'you suppose he eats?"

"I have an idea that it is something highly concentrated, from his
anatomy. I shall try giving him sugar, milk chocolate, something of
the kind. First I shall try maple syrup. Being a liquid, it is easily
administered, and its penetrating odor also may be a help."

* * * * *

A can of the liquid was brought in and to the amazement of the
Terrestrials, the long, delicate antennae of the Vorkul began to twitch
as soon as the can was opened. Motioning hastily for silence, von
Steiffel filled a bowl and placed it upon the floor beneath Kromodeor's
grotesque nose. The twitching increased, until finally one dull, glazed
eye brightened somewhat and curled slowly out upon its slender pedicle,
toward the dish. His mouth opened sluggishly and a long, red tongue
reached out, but as his perceptions quickened, he became conscious of
the strangers near him. The mouth snapped shut, the eye retracted, and
heaving, rippling surges traversed that powerful body as he struggled
madly against the unbreakable shackles of steel binding him to the floor.

"_Ach, kindlein_!" The surgeon bent anxiously over that grotesque but
frightened head; soothing, polysyllabic German crooning from his bearded
lips.

"Here, let's try this--I'm good on it," Stevens suggested, bringing up
the Callistonian thought exchanger. All three men donned headsets, and
sent wave after wave of friendly and soothing thoughts toward that
frantic and terrified brain.

"He's got his brain shut up like a clam!" Brandon snorted. "Open up,
guy--we aren't going to hurt you! We're the best friends you've got,
if you only knew it!"

"Himmel, und he iss himself killing!" moaned von Steiffel.

"One m