His watch had stopped.

But jt couldn't stop-it was self-winding.

Nevertheless it had. Perhaps he had banged it in the bush, perhaps. . . no matter, it had stopped. He looked. for Hans' watch, thinking that its twenty-four-hour face was easier to use as a compa.s.s dial anyhow.

But Hans was not wearing his watch, nor was it in any of his pockets. Whether he had left it at the house, along with his polarizer and duffel bag, or whether it had dropped off while Charlie was carrying him, did not matter. They had no watch between them and Charlie did not know what time it was, not even approximately. It seemed to him that he had been carrying Hans, fighting this dreary bush, for a week.

So a compa.s.s bug couldn't tell him anything.

He almost felt defeated at that moment. But he rallied, telling himself that if he went downhill he was bound to find that stream. . . then he would either find the ford or the waterfall, one or the other. He hauled himself around into position to lift Hans, favoring his right leg.

He need not have bothered; his right leg was not working.

The "pins and needles" in it were almost unbearable, as if he had sat much too long in a cramped position. But they would not go away as they always had in the past; nothing he could do would make that leg obey his orders. -He lowered his head against Hans and bawled.

He became aware that Nixie was licking his face and whining. He stopped his useless blubbering and raised his head. "It's all right, fellow. Don't you worry."

But it wasn't all right. While Charlie was no jungle rat, he did know that search parties could comb the area f weeks- and not - find them, could pa.s.s within feet of tl~ spot and never see them. Possibly no human being h~ ever been where they were now; possibly no hum~ would reach this spot in many years to come.

If he didn't use his head now, they would never get oi~ Nixie sat patiently, watching him, trusting him. "Nixie, this is up to you now, boy. You understar me?"

Nixie whined. "Go back to the house. Fetch! Fetch Maw. Fet anybody. Right now! Go back to the house."

Nixie barked.

"Don't argue with me. You've got to do it. Gohom Go back and fetch somebody!"

Nixie looked -dubious, trotted a few steps in the direction in which they had come, stopped and booke around inquiringly. "That's right! Keep going! Go bac to the house! Fetch somebody! Go!"

Nixie looked sharply at him, then trotted away in businesslike fashion.

Sometime later Charlie raised his head and shook i Gosh! he must have gone to sleep. . . couldn't do th~

What if another dragonfly came along.. . have I stay awake. Was Hans all right? Have to pick him up an get out of here. . . where was Nixie? "Nixie!"

No answer. That was the last straw. But he'd have I get moving anyhow- His leg wouldn't work. . . felt funny. "Nixie! Nixie!

Mrs. Kuppenheimer heard the scratching and whining at the door, wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n and went to open it. When she saw what was there she threw her hands up. "Lieber Gott! What happened to you?" She knelt swiftly, picked up the little dog and put him on her clean table, bent over him, talking to him and picking leeches from him, wiping away blood. "Schrecklich!"

"What happened to him, Mama?"

"I don't know." She went on working. But Nixie jumped Out of her arms, charged straight for the closed door, tried to crash his way out-unsuccessful, he leaped and clawed at it and howled. -

Mrs. Kuppenheimer gathered him up and held his struggling body against her breast. "Gerta! Get Paw!"

"What's the matter with him, Mama?"

"Something dreadful has happened. Run!"

The Borealis council hall was filled with Scouts and older people. Hans and Charlie were seated in the front row, with Nixie on a chair between them. Hans had crutches across one knee; Charlie had a cane. Mr. Qu'an came down the aisle, saw them, and sat down as Charlie moved Nixie over to share his seat. The Scoutmaster said to Hans, "I thought you were off those things?" His glance touched the crutches.

"I am-but Maw made me bring them."

"I-" Mr. Qu'an stopped. An older man had just taken his place at a table in the front of the hall at which were seated half a dozen others.

"Quiet, please." The man waited a moment. "This Court of Honor is met in special session for awards. It is our first duty tonight-and proud pleasure-to award a life-saving medal. Will Tenderfoot Scout Nixie Vaughn please come forward?"

"Now, Nixie!" Charlie whispered.

Nixie jumped off the chair, trotted forward, sat at attention and saluted, trembling.

COMMON SENSE.

JOE, THE RIGHT HAND head of Joe-Jim, addressed his words to Hugh Hoyland. "All right, smart boy, you've convinced the Chief Engineer." He gestured toward Bill Ertz with the blade of his knife, then resumed picking Jim's teeth with it. "So what? Where does it get you?"

"I've explained that," Hugh Hoyland answered irritably. "We keep on, until every scientist in the Ship, from the Captain to the greenest probationer, knows that the Ship moves and believes that we can make it move. Then we'll finish the Trip, as Jordan willed. How many knives can you muster?" he added.

"Well, for the love of Jordan! Listen, have you got some fool idea that we are going to help you with this crazy scheme?"

"Naturally. You're necessary to it."

"Then you had better think up another think. That's out. Bobo! Get out the checkerboard."

"O.K., Boss." The microcephalic dwarf hunched himself up off the floor plates and trotted across Joe-Jim's apartment.

"Hold it, Bobo." Jim, the left-hand head, had spoken. The dwarf stopped dead, his narrow forehead wrinkled. The fact that his two-headed master occasionally failed to agree as to what Bobo should do was the only note of insecurity in his tranquil bloodthirsty existence.

"Let's hear what he has to say," Jim continued. "There may be some fun in this."

"Fun! The fun of getting a knife in your ribs. Let me point out that they are my ribs, too. I don't agree to it."

"I didn't ask you to agree; I asked you to listen. Leaving fun out of it, it may be the only way to keep a knife out of our ribs."

"What do you mean?" Joe demanded suspiciously. "You heard what Ertz had to say." Jim flicked a thumb toward the prisoner. "The Ship's officers are planning to clean out the upper levels. How would you like to go into the Converter, Joe? You can't play checkers after we're broken down into hydrogen."

"Bunk! The Crew can't exterminate the muties; they've tried before."

Jim turned to Etrz. "How about it?"

Ertz answered somewhat diffidently, being acutely aware of his own changed status from a senior Ship's officer to prisoner of war. He felt befuddled anyhow; too much had happened and too fast. He had been kidnaped, hauled up to the Captain's veranda, and had there gazed out at the stars. The stars.

His hard-boiled rationalism included no such concept. If an Earth astronomer had had it physically demonstrated to him that the globe spun on its axis because someone turned a crank, the upset in evaluations could have been no greater.

Besides that, he was acutely aware that his own continued existence hung in fine balance. Joe-Jim was the first upper-level mutie he had ever met other than in combat, knife to knife. A word from him to that great ugly dwarf sprawled on the deck-- He chose his words. "I think the Crew would be successful, this time. We . . . they have organized for it. Unless there are more of you than we think there are and better organized, I think it could be done. You see . . . well, uh, I organized it."

"You?"

"Yes. A good many of the Council don't like the policy of letting the muties alone. Maybe it's sound religious doctrine and maybe it isn't, but we lose a child here and a couple of pigs there. It's annoying."