a few Meloans in the crude tent that served as their
headquarters. Duke went back toward the cubbyhole where a thin, haggard
man sat on a broken block behind a makeshift desk.

The hairless blue head shook slowly while the man's eyes dropped
hungrily to the paper in Duke's pocket and away again guiltily. "No
work, Captain O'Neill. Unless you can operate some of those Earth
machines we're getting?"

Duke grimaced, passing the magazine over to hands that trembled as they
took it. His education was in ultra-literary creative writing, his
experience in war. And here, where there was the whole task of
rebuilding a planet to be done, the ruin of tools and power made what
could be done too little for even the few who were left. There was no
grain to reap or wood to cut after the killing gas from Throm had
ruined vegetation; there were no workable mines where all had been
blasted closed. Transportation was gone. And the economy had passed
beyond hand tools, leaving too few of those. Even whole men were idle,
and his artificial hand could never replace a real one for carrying
rubble.

"Director Flannery has been asking for you again," the man told him.

Duke ignored it. "What about my wife?"

The Meloan frowned, reaching for a soiled scrap of paper. "We may have
something. One of her former friends thinks she was near this address.
We'll send someone out to investigate, if you wish, captain; but it's
still pretty uncertain."

"I'll go myself," Duke said harshly. He picked up the paper,
recognizing the location as one that had been in the outskirts.

The man behind the desk shook his head doubtfully. Then he shrugged,
and reached behind him for a small automatic. "Better take this--and
watch your step! There are two bullets left."

Duke nodded his thanks and turned away, dropping the gun into his
pocket. Behind him he heard a long sigh and the rustle of a magazine
being opened quickly.

* * * * *

It was a long walk. At first, he traced his way through streets that
had been partially blasted clear. After the first mile, however, he was
forced to hunt around or over the litter and wreckage, picking the way
from high spot to high spot. There were people about, rooting through
the debris, or patrolling in groups. He drew the automatic and carried
it in his hand, in plain sight. Some stared at him and some ignored
him, but none came too close.

Once he heard shouting and a group