"Never mind," he said. He reached into his pocket and gave her a few coins and then turned and walked rapidly away, suddenly anxious to see the bright, remembered face of the young colonist, Doris, Don's friend; a face that would chase away the memory of this pathetic creature. After a moment, he heard the pad of her feet hopefully, fearfully following him. * * * * * She was standing beside his cot again, and he concentrated to make the walls stop spinning. "It had a blue line." "Yes, I know. Where?" She showed him with her fingers. "This much." "Halfway up?" he prompted. Dumbly, she nodded. He looked at the plants. "Hertha, listen. I've got to talk before the paralysis comes back. You'll have to listen very carefully and try to understand. I'll be all right in about ten days. You know that?" She nodded again. He took a deep breath that seemed to catch in his throat. "But you'll have to go outside before then." Hertha whimpered and fluttered her hands nervously. "I know you're afraid," he said. "I wouldn't ask you, but it has to be done. I can't go. You can see that, can't you? It has to be done." "Afraid!" "Nonsense!" he said harshly. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Put on the outside suit and nothing can hurt you." Moaning in fear, she shook her head. "Listen, Hertha! You've _got_ to do it. For _me_!" He did not like to make the appeal personal. He would have preferred to convince her that fear of the outside was groundless. It was not possible. He had attempted, again and again, to explain that the tiny satellite with its poison air was completely harmless as long as she wore a surface suit. There was no alien life, no possible danger, outside this tiny square of insulated hut and breathable air. But it was useless. And the personal appeal was the only course remaining. It was as much for her sake as his; she also needed oxygen, but she could never understand that fact. "For you?" she asked. He nodded, feeling the fever rise. His face twisted in pain, and he stared pleadingly into her cow-like eyes: dumb eyes, animal eyes, brown and trusting and ... loyal. The paralysis struck. His voice would not come up out of his chest and the dizziness swamped his mind, and, in fever, he was once again in Pastiville, the nearest planet with an oxygen atmosphere. * * * * * Hertha followed him up the alley, out into the cheap glitter of Windopole Avenue, a rutted, smelly street which was the center of the port-workers' section. She followed him across Windopole, up Venus, across Nineshime. He turned into the Lexo Building, which had become shabby since he had seen it last, when it had been freshly painted. She did not follow him inside, and he breathed a sigh of relief and tried to put her out of his mind as he walked up the stairs to the room 17B. After a moment's hesitation, his heart knocking with pleasant anticipation, he pressed the buzzer. "Come in."