The heavy door closed softly and Rod found himself in the stinging sand of outside Tetrarch. But only for a moment. The guards took off their masks with obvious relief and guided him to a small building some fifty yards from the slave compartment. He was thrust through a circular aperture and turned to see himself viewed by an elderly tetrarch. It spoke with the peculiar sibilance with which the tetrarchians handled human speech. “You are a rassh yonge manss, Ross Harros. Howefser, there iss ssomething I musst ssay to you. With no one elsse of my rasce pressent.” A door back of the tetrarch opened silently. Latham Koler slid noiselessly through the opening. Rod scowled into the quisling’s peering owl-eyes. It was an effort to resist the impulse to cover both of them with a left jab before crossing his right on the bony chin. “I’m sorry our helmets keep me from spitting in your face,” he remarked. The tetrarch motioned Koler forward. “You are not as mature as I expected.” Koler’s voice rustled like his dark garments, “And your wits need more exercise. You’d be quarry for the Hunt at this moment, if I hadn’t interceded on your behalf.” “Quarry?” Rod’s eyebrows raised. “Yes. Every so often one of the hot-heads decides to escape. The tetrarchs love it. Sometimes, they deliberately give them the chance.” * * * * * He pointed to the oxygen cannisters attached to the back of Rod’s space suit. “The cylinders in our human space suits supply enough air to last for eight hours. When the air is exhausted it seems to be a natural reaction to rip the suit open. “Imagine breathing this stuff!” Koler grasped a handful of the sand swirling about them. “That’s the climax of the Hunt. We--uh--they allow about an hour’s head start and then stalk the quarry. The idea is to catch him just as he rips his suit. And to get him to the operating chamber just before he dies. “The tetrarchs are brilliant technicians, even if they are weak on theory. So I’ve helped them. We are anxious to find out why humans exposed to gryxon die on their twenty-fifth birthday. They think research on still-living humans will give them the answer.” The tetrarch waved an arm. “He is a good sscientisst,” he commented. Koler’s rustling voice paused while the owl-eyes continued to peer. “But that’s of minor interest. I’ve persuaded them to save you.” “Why?” “You have influence.” Latham Koler’s voice rustled while the tetrarch nodded approvingly. “We are well aware you were President of the Terran Science Association. And that you served in the terran army with distinction in the fruitless fight against the tetrarchs. And we know that you have thousands of devoted followers.” Koler paused. He peered with bloodshot eyes to see if his remarks were taking effect. “The tetrarchs are anxious to expand their conquests. They need those that are spending their time guarding the humans now. If you will throw in with us--the rest will follow....”