For the next few days Saxon was the perfect guest. He argued philosophical abstractions with the family by firelight; by day he hiked in the woods with Veena and listened to Mentor give her lessons. He asked questions. "Veena, do you know what a microorganism is?" "Benevolent or malignant?" "Malignant. A plague." She pursed her lips. "Organic or cultural?" "Organic of course." "Bacteria." Veena shrugged. "Quite a few of the first generation died immediately after the landing. Until they adapted. Until they analyzed the basic metabolism of the planet's dominant life-forms, and constructed a neutralizer." "A neutralizer?" "A protective shell of ionized particles," she said patiently, "keyed to the individual body-chemistry." "Classified information," Mentor droned. Saxon licked his lips. "You mentioned cultural microorganisms?" "Much more deadly. I call them that, but Lang says I'm being semantically unsound. War, for example. Racial inferiority. To date we haven't found a cure." She broke off, and her eyes were shining wet. "But you don't have wars," Saxon said. "No." "Then?" "We have a--ghetto," the girl said slowly. "I can't tell you about it. Perhaps soon--" Abruptly she changed the subject. Slowly, Saxon's defenses began to crumble. To all intents he was now a member of Lang's household, Veena's adopted big brother. Big brother--or pet? It did not really matter. * * * * * On the fourth day he went back to the lifeboat. He remembered his graduation day, the crash of the Corps anthem, and the pledge. _I do faithfully swear to uphold the ideals of Man, to use this vested power for the absolute good of Earth. I will not shrink from any cup of duty, regardless of how bitter. I will guard stasis with my life, and the lives of innocent people if need be, people whose only crime may be that they are potential threats to stasis--_ He tinkered with the ship's reactor for an hour. Then he ran. Behind him the lifeboat dissolved in a white blossom of flame. Farewell the cold stars and the ache and the loneliness. Farewell the destruction of newborn colonies to secure the rotting stagnancy of Earth. He would have a great many bad nights, but he was used to bad nights. He thought of Veena and his stride quickened. She would be a beautiful woman. They were waiting for him back at the farmhouse, Lang, Veena and Merl. They were staring at the dark pyre of smoke in the forest. Saxon took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I've got a confession to make--" They weren't listening. Lang said quietly, "You were right, Veena. He may qualify." "Come." Merl took her husband's arm. "Let's call the Council." They went inside. Saxon looked at Veena. He moistened his lips. "You knew," he said. She nodded. There was a queer adult maturity about her as she said, "Wait. They're calling an emergency Council meeting to decide if you're fit."