‘B-by Space, we’re at f-full acceleration! What’s wr-rong with the equalizer?’

‘Damn the equalizer!’ roared Tubal, heaving to his feet. ‘What’s wrong with the ship?’

* * *

He stumbled out the door, into the equally dark corridor, with Forase crawling after him. When they burst into the control room, they found Sefan surrounded by the dim emergency lights, his green skin shining with perspiration.

‘Meteor,’ he croaked. ‘It played hob with our power distributors. It’s all going into acceleration. The lights, heating units and radio are all out of commission, while the ventilators are just barely limping.’ He added, ‘And Section Four is punctured.’

Tubal gazed about him wildly. ‘Idiot! Why didn’t you keep your eye on the mass indicator?’

‘I did, you overgrown lump of putty,’ howled Sefan, ‘but it never registered! It – never – registered! Isn’t that just what you’d expect from a second-hand jalopy, rented for two hundred credits? It went through the screen as if it were empty ether.’

‘Shut up!’ Tubal flung open the suit-compartments and groaned. ‘They’re all Arcturian models. I should have checked up. Can you handle one of these, Sefan?’

‘Maybe.’ The Vegan scratched a doubtful ear.

In five minutes, Tubal swung into the lock and Sefan, stumbling awk- wardly, followed after. It was half an hour before they returned.

Tubal removed his head-piece. ‘Curtains!’

Wri Forase gasped. ‘You mean-we’re through?’

The Arcturian shook his head. ‘We can fix it, but it will take time. The radio is ruined for good, so we can’t get help.’

‘Get help!’ Forase looked shocked. ‘That’s all we need. How would we explain being inside the Spican System? We might as well commit suicide as send out radio calls. As long as we can get back without help, we’re safe. Missing a few more classes won’t hurt us too much.’

Sefan’s voice broke in dully. ‘But what about those panicky Earthmen back on Spica Four?’

Forase’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say a word. It closed again, and if ever a Humanoid looked sick, Forase was that Humanoid.

That was only the beginning.

It took a day and a half to unscramble the space jalopy’s power lines. It took two more days to decelerate to safe turning point. It took four days to return to Spica IV. Total – eight days.

When the ship hovered once more over the place where they had marooned the Earthmen, it was midmorning, and the Tubal’s face as he surveyed the area through the televisor was a study in length. Shortly he broke a silence that had long since become sticky.

‘I guess we’ve made every boner we could possibly have made. We landed them right outside a native village. There’s no sign of the Earthmen.’

Sefan shook his head dolefully. ‘This is a bad business.’

Tubal buried his head in his long arms clear down to the elbows.

‘That’s the finish. If they didn’t scare themselves to death, the natives got them. Violating prohibited solar systems is bad enough-but it’s just plain murder now, I guess.’

‘What we’ve got to do,’ said Sefan, ‘is to get down there and find out if there are any still alive. We owe them that much. After that – ‘

He swallowed. Forase finished in a whisper.

‘After that, it’s expulsion from the U., psycho-revision-and manual labor for life.’

‘Forget it!’ barked Tubal. ‘We’ll face that when we have to.’

Slowly, very slowly, the ship circled downward and came to rest on the rocky clearing where, eight days previously, ten Earthmen had been left stranded.

‘How do we handle these natives?’ Tubal turned to Forase with raised eyebrow ridges (there was no hair on them, of course). ‘Come on, son, give with some sub-Humanoid psychology. There are only three of us and I don’t want any trouble.’

Forase shrugged and his fuzzy face wrinkled in perplexity. ‘I’ve just been thinking about that, Tubal. I don’t know any.’

‘What!’ exploded Sefan and Tubal in twin shouts.

‘No one does,’ added the Denebian hurriedly. ‘It’s a fact. After all, we don’t let sub-Humanoids into the Federation till they’re fully civilized, and we quarantine them until then. Do you suppose we have much opportunity to study their psychology?’

The Arcturian seated himself heavily. ‘This gets better and better. Think, Fuzzy-face, will you? Suggest something!’

Forase scratched his head. ‘Well – uh – the best we can do is to treat them like normal Humanoids. If we approach slowly, palms spread out, make no sudden movements and keep calm, we ought to get along. Now, remember, I’m saying we ought to. I can’t be certain about this.’

‘Let’s go, and damnation with certainty,’ urged Sefan impatiently. ‘It doesn’t matter much, anyway. If I get knocked off here, I don’t have to go back home.’ His face took on a hunted look. ‘When I think of what my family is going to say – ‘

They emerged from the ship and sniffed the atmosphere of Spica’s fourth planet. The sun was at meridian, and loomed overhead like a large orange basketball. Off in the woods, a bird called once in a creaky caw. Utter silence descended.

‘Hmph!’ said Tubal, arms akimbo.

‘It’s enough to make you feel sleepy. No signs of life at all. Now, which way is the village?’

There was a three-way dispute about this, but it didn’t last long. The Arcturian first, the other two tagging along, they strode down the slope and toward the straggling forest.

A hundred feet inside, the trees came alive, as a wave of natives dropped noiselessly from the overhanging branches. Wri Forase went under at the very first of the avalanche. Bill Sefan stumbled, stood his ground momentarily, then went over backward with a grunt.

Only huge Myron Tubal was left standing. Legs straddled wide, and whooping hoarsely, he laid about right and left. The attacking natives hit him and bounced off like drops of water from a whirling flywheel. Modeling his defense on the principle of the windmill, he backed his way against a tree.

Here he made a mistake. On the lowest branch of that tree squatted a native at once more cautious and more brainy than his fellows. Tubal had already noticed that the natives were equipped with stout, muscular tails, and had made a mental note of the fact. Of all the races in the Galaxy, only one other, Homo Gamma Cepheus, possessed tails. What he didn’t notice, however, was that these tails were

prehensile.

This he found out almost immediately, for the native in the branch above his head looped his tail downward, flashed it about Tubal’s neck and contracted it.

The Arcturian threshed wildly in agony, and the tailed attacker was jerked from his tree. Suspended head-first and whirled about in huge sweeps, the native nevertheless maintained his hold and tightened that tail-grip steadily.

The world blacked out. Tubal was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Tubal came to slowly, unpleasantly aware of the stinging stiffness of his neck. He tried vainly tb rub that stiffness, and it took a few seconds to realize that he was tied tightly. The fact startled him into alertness. He became aware, first, that he was lying on his stomach; second, of the horrible din about him; third, of Sefan and Forase bundled up next to him-and last, that he could not break his bonds.

‘Hey, Sefan, Forase! Can you hear me?’

It was Sefan that answered joyfully. ‘You old Draconian goat! We thought you were out for good.’

‘I don’t die so easy,’ grunted the Arcturian. ‘Where are we?’