explosive noises. He felt a stinging pain in one leg, and
glanced down to see it streaked with red.

Ahead of him a line of bipeds all clothed in identical blue sacs of
fabric had formed, spilling from the vehicles as they halted. The
Triomed stopped, sensing mortal danger. Behind him, the mob rumbled.
Ahead the blue bipeds stood holding artifacts that the Triomed did not
for an instant doubt were weapons.

No street opened on either side of him. He was trapped between the
weapons, the mob, and two tall buildings. He hesitated only for a
moment. With a desperate leap, he reached the second level of windows of
the building nearest him and clung there, gasping.

A white-faced creature appeared and began poking at him with a steel rod
that burned like fire when it touched his host's flesh. The creature
screamed shrilly all the while.

With a sob, the Triomed swung himself onto the window ledge and began
climbing upward, toward the roof of the building. It was slow work and
the pain in his leg and burned shoulder slowed him down. He dare not
free himself of his host now, for he was much too far from his ship to
be able to return in his natural form.

* * * * *

There were searchlights in the street below, probing at him as he clung
to the sheer facade of the building. Panic drove him upward. A
continuous, wailing roar rose from the canyon below, a fear-laden
hideous cacophony. The Triomed felt himself weak with terror, part of
which was his host's and part of which stemmed from within himself. The
terror and fear of not knowing what had gone wrong and why he stood now
in such peril.

At last he reached the roof. He heaved himself over the parapet and lay
for a moment, flanks heaving painfully. Then he stiffened with a new
fear. He was not alone. The roof was occupied. A score or more of armed
bipeds blocked him into a triangular corner of the roof. He got to his
feet and stumbled backward. Their weapons were aimed at him. He
retreated until the parapet stopped him, warning of the sheer drop to
the street far below.

A figure separated itself from the armed mass. A flash of recognition
came--partially his own, partially his host's. It was the small biped he
had seen in the searchlight beam running toward the cubicle he had
deserted so long ago it seemed.

The small creature began speaking, making soft, soothing noises,
advancing all the while, a tiny glass vial in his hands.

Witho