mal and his vision
wasn't blurred. He looked at the little animal curled in his lap, gazing
up at him with solemn yellow eyes. If he gave it encouragement it would
probably be crawling all over him. However, he couldn't have it frisking
around while he was flying. "Come, Pet," he said--there wasn't anything
else to call it--"you're going places."

Picking it up, half-carrying and half-dragging it, he took it to the
rear of the compartment, improvising a narrow cage back there. He was
satisfied it would hold. He should have done this in the beginning. Of
course he hadn't felt like it then and he hadn't had the time--and
anyway the native would have resented such treatment of a gift. Probably
it was best he had waited.

His pet didn't like confinement. It whined softly for a while. The noise
stopped when the motors roared. Bolden headed straight up, until he was
high enough to establish communication over the peaks. He made a brief
report about the natives' agreement and his own illness, then he started
home.

He flew at top speed for ten hours. He satisfied his hunger by nibbling
concentrated rations from time to time. The animal whined occasionally,
but Bolden had learned to identify the sounds it made. It was neither
hungry nor thirsty. It merely wanted to be near him. And all he wanted
was to reach the base.

The raw sprawling settlement looked good as he sat the copter down.
Mechanics came running from the hangars. They opened the door and he
stepped out.

And fell on his face. There was no feeling in his hands and none in his
legs. He hadn't recovered.

* * * * *

Doctor Kessler peered at him through the microscreen. It gave his face a
narrow insubstantial appearance. The microscreen was a hemispherical
force field enclosing his head. It originated in a tubular circlet that
snapped around his throat at the top of the decontagion suit. The field
killed all microlife that passed through it or came in contact with it.
The decontagion suit was non-porous and impermeable, covering completely
the rest of his body. The material was thinner over his hands and
thicker at the soles.

Bolden took in the details at a glance. "Is it serious?" he asked, his
voice cracking with the effort.

"Merely a precaution," said the doctor hollowly. The microscreen
distorted sound as well as sight. "Merely a precaution. We know what it
is, but we're not sure of the best way to treat it."