Miner Hilton closed his eyes. He struck her hands suddenly away and stepped back, and his blaster came ready into his hand. "I can't," he whispered. His lips were white. "My father has taught me. He trusts me. And I believe in him. I must!" Hilton looked where the glow of the Sun-child pulsed against ebon rock. "The Unregenerates won't trouble us any more." He raised the muzzle of his blaster to his head. * * * * * It was then that Falken remembered his was empty. He dropped it and sprang. He shocked hard against Hilton's middle, struck him down, clawing for his gun arm. But Hilton was heavy, and strong. He rolled away and brought his barrel lashing down across Falken's temple. Falken crouched, dazed and bleeding, in the mud. He laughed, and said, "Why don't you kill me, Hilton?" Hilton looked from Falken's uncowed, snarling face to Sheila. The blaster slipped suddenly from his fingers. He covered his face with his hands and was silent, shivering. Falken said, with curious gentleness, "That proves it. You've got to have faith in a thing, to kill or die for it." Hilton whispered, "Sheila!" She smiled and kissed him, and Falken looked steadfastly away, wiping the blood out of his eyes. Hilton grasped suddenly at the helmet of his vac-suit. He talked, rapidly, as he worked. "The Sun-child creates with the force of its mind. It understands telekinesis, the control of the basic electrical force of the universe by thought, just as the wise men of our earth understood it. The men who walked on the water, and moved mountains, and healed the sick. "We can only attack it through its mind. We'll try to weaken its thought-force, destroy anything it sends against us." His fingers flashed between the helmet radio and the repair kit which is a part of every vac suit, using wires, spare parts, tools. "There," said Hilton, after a long time. "Now yours." Falken gave him his helmet. "Won't the Sun-child know what we're doing?" he asked, rather harshly. Hilton shook his fair head. "It's weak now. It won't think about us until it has fed. Perhaps two hours more." "Can you read its thoughts?" demanded Falken sourly. "A very little," said Hilton, and Sheila laughed, quietly. Hilton worked feverishly. Falken watched his deft fingers weaving a bewildering web of wires between the three helmets, watched him shift and change, tune and adjust. He watched the sun-child throb and sparkle as the strength of the Sun sank into it. He watched Sheila Moore, staring at Hilton with eyes of brilliant green. He never knew how much time passed. Only that the Sun-child gave a little rippling sigh of light and floated down. The fissure closed above it. Sheila caught her breath, sharp between her teeth. Hilton rose. He said rapidly.