As time passed they were drawn together by the bonds of propinquity
and mutual interest--this obscure police officer and the daughter of
one of the most powerful men in the solar system. But Quirl did not
name his love, for always there was the grim present of their
captivity, the ghastly uncertainty of the future.

The little "galley boy" Sorko seemed daily more frail. Apparently the
fall he had sustained had done him some internal injury. Often the
guard, with many a ribald comment, had to help him get his emptied
bowl back up the ladder.

* * * * *

One day he seemed overcome by great weakness. Staggering, he held his
hand to his sweat-dewed forehead. Erratically he waltzed across the
floor, to crumple in a heap where Quirl and the girl were sitting.
Moved by compassion, Lenore composed his body in a more comfortable
position, and with a bit of handkerchief moistened the pirate's
wrinkled, old-young face with some of Quirl's drinking water. The
guard looked on indifferently.

"Guard!" Quirl shouted. "He's going to die. Come and take him to the
lazaret."

"Sez you!" returned the guard callously. "Me, I stay on post till
relieved. Sorko'll be all right. He's been throwin' them fits right
regular."

Sorko's lips moved feebly, and Lenore bent down to catch his words.
They were barely audible:

"I'm all right, lady. You done me a good turn when you made Gore put
me down, and I'm doin' you one now. I wouldn't do this for no one
else." He gasped.

"Water!" Lenore exclaimed sharply, and Quirl handed her the rest of
his cup.

"Ain't water he wants," the amused guard observed. "The blighter's
playin' for a good chew of merclite!"[1]

[Footnote 1: Merclite, a highly stimulating gum. It was prohibited by
interplanetary proclamation, but was always obtainable through the
surreptitious channels of a highly profitable traffic.]

"I ain't as bad as I'm makin' out," Sorko whispered. "Got to do it to
tell you this, 'cause you was square with me. Gore is fixin' to have a
mut'ny. Kill captain, kill all these dubs here--this guy of yourn,
too. He wants to take you for his--" the weazened little face twisted
in unwonted shy delicacy--"take you for him, pretty lady. I don't
want him to. I'm not--a--bad feller--"

"What the hell, Sorko!" the puzzled guard exclaimed over the delay.
"You bandy-legged rat, get up there, or I'll give you a jolt."

Lenore looked up, indignant.

"You heartles