ce to say yes or no before your first run. If you say no and refuse
duty, it means you must become an exile and stay here. No man who has
gone through our training can return to normal life; there is too much
chance of his being picked up and sweated by the opposition."

"Never?"

The major shrugged. "This may be a long-term operation. We hope not, but
there is no way of telling now. You will be in exile until we either
find what we want or fail entirely. That is the last card I have to lay
on the table." He stretched. "You're slated for training tomorrow. Think
it over and then let us know your answer when the time comes. Meanwhile,
you are to be teamed with Ashe, who will see to putting you through the
course."

It was a big hunk to swallow, but once down, Ross found it digestible.
The training opened up a whole new world to him. Judo and wrestling were
easy enough to absorb, and he thoroughly enjoyed the workouts. But the
patient hours of archery practice, the strict instruction in the use of
a long-bladed bronze dagger were more demanding. The mastering of one
new language and then another, the intensive drill in unfamiliar social
customs, the memorizing of strict taboos and ethics were difficult. Ross
learned to keep records in knots on hide thongs and was inducted into
the art of primitive bargaining and trade. He came to understand the
worth of a cross-shaped tin ingot compared to a string of amber beads
and some well-cured white furs. He now understood why he had been shown
a traders' caravan during that first encounter with the purpose behind
Operation Retrograde.

During the training days his feeling toward Ashe changed materially. A
man could not work so closely with another and continue to resent his
attitude; either he blew up entirely, or he learned to adjust. His awe
at Ashe's vast amount of practical knowledge, freely offered to serve
his own blundering ignorance, created a respect for the man which might
have become friendship, had Ashe ever relaxed his own shield of
impersonal efficiency. Ross did not try to breach the barrier between
them mainly because he was sure that the reason for it was the fact
that he was a "volunteer." It gave him an odd new feeling he avoided
trying to analyze. He had always had a kind of pride in his record; now
he had begun to wish sometimes that it was a record of a different type.

Men came and went. Hodaki and his partner disappeared, as did Jansen and
his. One lost