lse.

Only Ekstrohm knew that it _had_ to be something else that caused the
disappearances.

_Or did it?_

He faced up to the question. How did he know he was sane? How could he
be sure that he hadn't stolen and hid the bodies for some murky reason
of his own? There was a large question as to how long a man could go
without sleep, dreams and oblivion, and remain sane.

Ekstrohm forced his mind to consider the possibility. Could he remember
every step he had taken the night before?

It seemed to him that he could remember walking past the creature lying
in the grass, then walking in a circle, and coming back to the base. It
seemed like that to him. But how could he know that it was true?

He couldn't.

* * * * *

There was no way he could prove, even to himself, that he had not
disposed of those alien remains and then come back to his bubble,
contented and happy at the thought of fooling those smug idiots who
could sleep at night.

"How much longer do we have to wait?" Nogol asked. "We've been here nine
hours. Half a day. The bodies are right where I left them outside. There
doesn't seem to be any more question."

Ekstrohm frowned. There was one question. He was sure there was one
question.... Oh, yes. The question was: How did he know he was sane?

He didn't know, of course. That was as good an answer as any. Might as
well accept it; might as well let them do what they wanted with him.
Maybe if he just gave up, gave in, maybe he could sleep then. Maybe he
could ...

Ekstrohm sat upright in his chair.

No. That wasn't the answer. He couldn't know that he was sane, but then
neither could anybody else. The point was, you had to go ahead living as
if you were sane. That was the only way of living.

"Cosmos," Ryan gasped. "Would you look at that!"

Ekstrohm followed the staring gaze of the two men.

On the video grid, one of the "dead" animals was slowly rising, getting
up, walking away.

"A natural phenomenon!" Ekstrohm said.

"Suspended animation!" Nogol ventured.

"Playing possum!" Ryan concluded.

Now came the time for apologies.

Ekstrohm had been through similar situations before, ever since he had
been found walking the corridors at college the night one of the girls
had been attacked. He didn't want to hear their apologies; they meant
nothing to him. It was not a matter of forgiving them. He knew the
situation had not changed.

They would suspect him just a