m where men slid
counters back and forth across tables--not one of Brodie's edited
recalls, but his own.

Rynch stood up, started for the rise of the slope, but before he
topped that he glanced back. The damaged com box still smoked where
its wearer had flung it. Now the man was already straining forward
with both arms, trying to reach a rock just a finger space beyond.
Lucky for him the burrow was an old one, uninhabited. In time he
should be able to work his way out. Meanwhile there was the whole of a
wide countryside in which Rynch could discover a hideout--no one would
find him now against his will.

He tried, as he strode along, to piece together more of his memories
and the scanty information he had had from the Nahuatl man. So he had
been "brain-channeled," given a set of false memories to fit a Rynch
Brodie whose presence on this world meant a billion credits for
someone. He could not believe that this was the spaceman's game alone,
for hadn't he spoken of "we"?

A billion credits! The sum was fantastic, the whole story
unbelievable.

There was a hot stab of pain on his instep. Rynch cried out, stamped
hard. One of the clawed scavengers was crushed. The man leaped back in
time to avoid another step into a swarming mass of them at work on
some unidentifiable carrion. Staring down at the welter of scaled,
segmented bodies and busy claws, he gasped.

Three dead water-cats were near the man trapped in the pit. Bait to
draw these voracious eaters straight to the prisoner. Rynch's empty
stomach heaved. He swung around, ran across the grassy verge of the
upper bank, hoping he was not too late.

As he half fell, half slid down to the water, he saw that the man had
managed to hook the webbing of the smouldering box to him, was casting
it out and dragging it back patiently, aiming at the nearest rock of
size, fruitlessly attempting to hitch its straps over the round of
stone.

Rynch dashed on, caught at that loop of webbing, and dug his heels
into the loose gravel as he began a steady pull. With his aid the
other crawled out, lay panting. Rynch grabbed the man's shoulder,
jerked him away from the body of the female water-cat. He was sure he
had seen a telltale scurrying around the smaller of the dead cubs.

The man straightened, glanced toward Rynch who was backing off, the
needler up and ready between them.

"My turn to ask why?"

Then his gaze followed Rynch's. The smallest cub twitched from side to
side.