heart. It has a murmur, and
questioning puts a terrific strain on it. You wouldn't want him to die
on your hands, would you, sir?"

"Mmmm--no. What do you advise?"

"Just a few days in the hospital, with treatment and rest. It'll also
have a psychological effect as he thinks of what's waiting for him."

Harris considered for a moment. "All right. I've got enough other things
to do anyway."

"Very good, sir. You won't regret this."

Lancaster heard the footsteps retreat into silence. Presently the doctor
came around to stand facing him. He was a short, curly-haired man of
undistinguished appearance. For a moment they locked eyes, then
Lancaster closed his. He wanted to tell the doctor to go away, but it
wasn't worth the trouble.

Later he was put on a stretcher and carried down endless halls to
another cell. This one had a hospital look about it, somehow, and the
air was sharp with the smell of antiseptics. The doctor came when he was
installed in bed and took his arm and slipped a needle into it. "Sleepy
time," he said.

Lancaster drifted away again.

* * * * *

When he woke up, he felt darkness and movement. He looked around,
wondering if he had gone blind, and the breath moaned out between his
bruised lips. A hand was laid on his shoulder and a voice spoke out of
the black.

"It's okay, fella. Take it easy. There'll be no more questions."

It was the doctor's voice, and the doctor looked nothing at all like
Charon, but still Lancaster wondered if he weren't being ferried over
the river of death. There was a thrumming all about him, and he heard a
low keening of wind. "Where are we going?" he mumbled.

"Away. You're in a stratorocket now. Just take it easy."

Lancaster fell asleep after awhile.

Beyond that there was a drugged, confused period where he was only dimly
aware of moving and trying to talk. Shadows floated across his vision,
shadows telling him something he couldn't quite grasp. He followed
obediently enough. Full clarity came eventually, and he was lying in a
bunk looking up at a metal ceiling. The shivering pulse of rockets
trembled in his body. A spaceship?

A spaceship!

He sat up, heart thudding, and looked wildly around. "Hey!" he cried.

The remembered figure of Berg came through the door. "Hullo, Allen," he
said. "How're you feeling?"

"I--you--" Lancaster sank weakly back to his pillow. He grew aware that
he was thoroughly bandaged, splinted,