ch, while every atom in his body felt a
sickening vibration that grew ever coarser. Then suddenly he felt
normal; the things on his wrists were removed and Vivian told him he
could open his eyes.

He did so. He had guessed what she had done, but he was surprised,
nevertheless, to see the straight, slender, attractive girl who stood
before him.

"You see, Xantra used this on me twice--the latter time to restore me,
so I would be able to see him. I watched him carefully," the girl
explained.

Clee gazed at Vivian in greatest confusion. Why--she was beautiful! He
grew conscious of a growing need to say something, and eventually the
asinine thing that left his lips was:

"Yes--you--you aren't bad looking at all."

The girl turned away, blushing; and it was Jim who relieved Clee from
his awkward situation. He came swinging happily through the alcove
portal to suddenly stop in blank surprise. Clee had disappeared!

* * * * *

It did not take long to restore Jim to his normal self, and Vivian and
Clee laughed at the great sigh of relief he unconsciously gave when he
found himself able to see the girl who before had been only a
disembodied Voice to him. Clee explained to Vivian what had happened
to them down below, and she in turn told them how she and Xantra had
come to be unconscious when they reached the control alcove.

"I found the anaesthetic by its smell soon after I went to Xantra,"
she explained. "I tried to conceal it in my dress, but Xantra saw me
and tried to take it away; and in the struggle that followed I guess
we both got anaesthetized. When I came to I saw you and Jim trying to
hold back the slaves; and I could see Xantra on the floor,
conscious--which you couldn't--and knew he was ordering the slaves on.
So I told you, and--here we are!

"Do you want to see Xantra now?" she added.

Clee would never forget the sight of the bound figure that met his
eyes on the floor on the large room. The clothes were odd; the figure
was much that of a normal man, though the shoulders were more sloped
and the head much larger; but it was the face, its expression, that
held him.

Unhealthy, leprous-white was the skin, and there was not one hair,
eyelash or eyebrow on the whole head. The closed eyes lay in deep
caverns surrounded by a thousand fine wrinkles, which crisscrossed all
over his face in every direction. The face and head were
freakish--monstrous; and yet, somehow, over it r