Hurtz returned to the front of the cabin to look over the damaged radio. Tentative inspection told him he could make sufficient repairs to send out a help call. But first, he knew, he would have to make an estimate of their position on this strange planet. He strapped a pistol to his waist, donned his helmet and lowered himself to the ground. He looked about him. There was a bluish tint to the atmosphere that hovered over the rim of the circling trees. Yellow, pink and deep-white flowers with fragile petals nodded silently through the stretches of growth. Another planet, his eyes told him, another simple damned planet, like the one before and the one before that. Vegetation and earth beneath another shining sun. And this is what I've earned, he told himself. Instead of my land, my estate, my kingdom. His lips compressed and he hammered a fist against the side of the rocket. Well, it's not going to be, he promised himself, starting his climb back to the cabin. Nothing is going to keep me from getting what I've earned. Nothing. He was swearing aloud when he pulled himself into the cabin. * * * * * Jones was watching as Hurtz straightened up inside the littered compartment. Hurtz unstrapped his pistol belt and tossed it to the floor. "How do you feel, son?" he asked quietly. The boy only stared at Hurtz. "All right?" Hurtz said helpfully. "All right, hell," the boy said in a thin monotone. "You were pretty well banged up." "That's news?" "If you're still feeling pain I'll give you another shot." "Why don't you save it for your head?" Hurtz turned and went to the forward part of the cabin and the radio. He didn't want to listen to that high, whining voice; the boy was hurt and Hurtz recognized it, but Hurtz couldn't take too much more, from anyone, injured or not. "I'm not going to live," the boy called after Hurtz. Hurtz turned back to face the boy. "What the hell kind of talk is that?" "I'm not going to live," the boy repeated in exactly the same tone. "You're getting delirious." "I'm getting dead." "Listen," Hurtz said slowly, "I respect the fact that you've been smashed up, Jones, but I don't want any talk like that, do you understand?" He tried to keep authority in his voice and at the same time, enough softness to give the boy assurance that Hurtz could take care of him. "We can have help here in no time," Hurtz continued. "The radio can be fixed, and the first thing you know you'll be bedded down in some pretty hospital with flowers, and...." "This was your fault," the boy said, as though Hurtz had not been talking. Hurtz closed his mouth slowly and his lips got thin. "Why don't you try to get some sleep?" "Because I'm bleeding to death inside." Hurtz blinked. It was a possibility, of course. The boy may have been hurt worse than Hurtz had thought.