Then, his face working in surprise, he turned slowly completely about, finally facing Jim Palmer again. His eyes went wide, when he saw the furtive, fearful steps the other was taking toward the safety of the rendering shed. "Well, Denton," Palmer said worriedly, "I'll talk to you later." "Stand right where you are!" There was a quiver to the trouble shooter's voice despite his iron control. "I've just started to ask questions. First, where's Jean?" "Why she went back to Earth on the _Moonstone_, the larger freighter. That was four days ago. She was pretty well broken up when she thought you were dead." Don Denton's forehead washboarded in thought. "There's something fishy here that I don't understand," he said, "but I'm going to get to the bottom of it." "Look, Denton," Palmer's tone was solicitous. "Why don't you let Carter, the doctor, take a look at you. I mean no offense; but you sound as if you either had a concussion or a touch of space fever." He gestured comfortingly. "Come on, take off your helmet, and the Doc'll find out what's wrong." * * * * * Don Denton was fumbling at the lace of his light copper helmet unconsciously, before he realized what he was doing. For some unknown reason, he felt that Palmer might be right and that he might have some brain injury. Then some vague stubbornness filled his mind, driving away his sudden compliance. His free hand snapped to his belt, whipped out the second ati-gun. "How is it that you and your men are walking around?" he asked, "I could have sworn you were dead?" He waited for the other's answer, conscious of an agonizing headache that had sprung out of nowhere. He still felt that he and Palmer were not alone, but his quick whirl a moment before had failed to disclose any lurker in the vicinity. And now, for the first time, he saw the eyes of Jim Palmer clearly. There was something in them that he could not understand, a pleading to be understood that escaped his senses. And the something that was in them was oddly at variance with the smile on the ruddy face and the reassuring words. "You must have seen us when we were asleep," Jim Palmer explained, "After working on these _Lanka_ plants for so long a time, you get such a slow steady heart action that it takes a stethoscope to find it." "Maybe?" Don Denton said skeptically. "But I still think you were dead." Jim Palmer laughed, the sound a long booming roll of mirth that drew curious glances from the workers at the rendering shed. His lips writhed back, and his shoulders shook with merriment, but his eyes never changed expression. "Do we _look_ dead?" he asked mirthfully. "It isn't what you look like, it's what you are that counts," Don Denton countered. "I've seen Martian Zombies that got around pretty well." "Yes," Jim Palmer nodded. "I've seen them. But they don't breathe or eat; and I can assure you that my men and I do both."