"Stop!" A clarion command inside his skull. The parasite was fighting back. Steve tumbled to the floor, lay there writhing. Two minds fought for control of his body, and he was being pushed back and out of control. He got to his feet stiffly, strode to a cabinet, took out a knife. He stared at the knife, fascinated, pointed it toward his chest. "One of us must die, human, but it shall not be I!" He drove the knife inward, slowly, an inch at a time toward his chest. He felt the point sting, saw a thin trickle of blood. For a moment, he fought to possess his arms and the knife with them. That was a mistake--almost, a fatal one. The parasite wanted that, for, in such a battle, it would win everytime. Perhaps it could not fight his hatred, but it could fight anything else he had to offer. The knife went in, scraped against a rib. Steve yelled hoarsely, drenched every atom of his soul in hatred. Slowly, he withdrew the knife, watched bright red blood well up after it. Something tugged at his mind, slipped away--first scalding, then wet. It oozed out, and pain blurred Steve's vision as he tumbled to the floor again. When he got up moments later and managed to staunch the flow of blood, he knew the parasite had perished. * * * * * Barely sixty of them met near the city gate--grim and weary, most of them with fresh wounds. Steve's joy was an emotion the dead parasite would have loved to share when he saw Teejay among the sixty. Kevin was there too, and Steiner. Surprisingly, Schuyler Barling seemed more sprightly than the rest. "LeClarc?" Steve demanded. "He was the first," said Kevin. "Stronger control, perhaps. He's among those who could not make it." "Maybe they're still alive." "No," Teejay told him. "I saw three men die, horribly. Most of the others probably did, too." "Don't you see, boy, we can't chance survival for all of us to seek out one or two who might still be alive! It wouldn't be fair." Kevin shook his head grimly. Steve knew he was right. He was far too exhausted to argue, anyway. "Then we'll go as we are?" "Well, there are half a dozen others in the gate-house now, forcing information from some of the hosts." "What information?" "About sub-space, boy. A hunter named McSweeney was possessed by a scientist of sorts, and he learned the sub-space gear is a compact little device which a man can carry. They store a few dozen of 'em in the gate-house, and--hello!"