He didn't drop the light. He tried to bat the bird away from his face, but it clung to his hair. Before he could crush it, he heard the whoosh of a gas gun. And the sound came from _behind_ him. That was his mistake. There was more than one of them. He breathed once and then felt himself fall forward. * * * * * It was morning when he awakened, bright sunlight streaming into his eyes. That was not the reason his head hurt, though he could be thankful the man or men had used a gas pellet instead of a projectile. Whoever _he_ or _they_ were. He got up and staggered toward the ship. A few steps were all he took. The ship wasn't there. He leaned against a tree and looked wildly around. The plant was gone too. Shakily he fumbled for a cigarette. Smoke didn't help much. They had taken the plant aboard while he was unconscious. They had left him alone on an uninhabited planet. A pretty planet and a useless one. No ship ever stopped here except to revive a plant, and that wouldn't happen often. It would be several lifetimes before another ship came, if one ever did. He stared miserably into the bright blue distance and thrust his hands into his jacket, and made a discovery. They'd left him a gun, at least, and ammunition. He'd be able to keep himself alive at a minimum level. There was a whistle in the distance. His head came up. He wasn't alone. Larienne? It couldn't be. From the direction of the sound, if it was Larienne, she was hiding in a nearby tree. But Larienne didn't like trees. "Richel Alsint," said a loud voice. Behind him this time. He turned around. There was no one there. Nothing but a red bird sitting on a branch. He started. The same red bird that had flown mysteriously in and out of his life. If it weren't for that creature, he'd be safely on the ship. He raised the gun. From one foot to another, the bird hopped on the branch. "Birds can't talk," it screeched. "Birds can't talk." The implication was clear. "Since you _can_ talk, you're not a bird." The gun was still leveled. "Then what are you?" "I could tell," said the bird. It had stopped hopping and was watching him calmly. It was red, but sometimes blue. The colors wouldn't remain fixed. He lowered the gun in defeat. He couldn't kill a harmless creature just for the sake of killing. It hadn't been responsible for this. "Don't be so sure, Richel Alsint. Don't be so sure." The bird burst into a wild trilling song. He glared at it speechlessly. Bird it wasn't. Either it could read his thoughts or it had been taught a patter that fitted his present situation with remarkable precision. "What do you think?" said the bird, cocking its head. He forgot about the bird. It was only a momentary diversion. "I've been marooned," he said dully. "It's happened before. It will happen again," chirruped the bird. "Don't worry, I'm here." It was, but he wished it would go away. "There is a note. Why don't you read, read, read?" sang the bird.