racked? He knew that the officer had disagreed
with the findings of the team and had been an unconvinced minority of
one who had refused to subscribe to the report that Warlock had no
native intelligent life and therefore was ready and waiting for human
settlement because it was technically an empty world. But to continue to
cling to that belief without a single concrete proof was certainly a
sign of mental imbalance.

And Thorvald was regarding him now with frowning impatience. You were
supposed to humor delusions, weren't you? Only, could you surrender and
humor a wild idea which might mean your death? If Thorvald wanted to go
island-hopping in chance of discovering what never had existed, Shann
need not accompany him. And if the officer tried to use force, well,
Shann was armed with a stunner, and had, he believed, more control over
the wolverines. Perhaps if he merely gave lip agreement to this
project.... Only he didn't believe, noting the light deep in those gray
eyes holding on him, that anybody could talk Thorvald out of this
particular obsession.

"You don't believe me, do you?" The impatience arose hotly in that
demand.

"Why shouldn't I?" Shann tried to temporize. "You've had a lot of
exploration experience; you should know about such things. I don't
pretend to be any authority."

Thorvald refolded the map and placed it in the case. Then he pulled at
the sealing of his blouse, groping in an inner secret pocket. He
uncurled his fingers to display his treasure.

On his palm lay a coin-shaped medallion, bone-white but possessing an
odd luster which bone would not normally show. And it was carved. Shann
put out a finger, though he had a strange reluctance to touch the
object. When he did he experienced a sensation close to the tingle of a
mild electric shock. And once he had made that contact, he was also
impelled to pick up that disk and examine it more closely.

The carved pattern was very intricate and had been done with great
delicacy and skill, though the whorls, oddly shaped knobs, ribbon
tracings, made no connected design he could determine. After a moment or
two of study, Shann became aware that his eyes, following those twists
and twirls, were "fixed," that it required a distinct effort to look
away from the thing. Feeling some of that same alarm as he had known
when he first heard the wailing of the Throg hound, he let the disk fall
back into Thorvald's hold, even more disturbed when he discovere