Laird lay quietly, watching the hunters move closer, and the sense of defeat came down on him like a falling world. What else could he do? What other chance was there? "All right," he said at last, audibly. "All right. But I'll be watching your every thought, understand? I don't think you can stop me from committing suicide if I must." "I think I can. But opposing signals to the body will only neutralize each other, leave it helplessly fighting itself. Relax, Laird, lie back and let me handle this. I am Daryesh the warrior, and I have come through harder battles than this." They rose and began walking down the hillside with arms lifted. Daryesh's thought ran on, "Besides--that's a nice-looking wench in command. It could be interesting!" His laughter rang out under the moon, and it was not the laughter of a human being. * * * * * "I can't understand you, John Laird," said Joana. "Sometimes," replied Daryesh lightly, "I don't understand myself very well--or you, my dear." She stiffened a little. "That will do, Lieutenant. Remember your position here." "Oh, the devil with our ranks and countries. Let's be live entities for a change." Her glance was quizzical. "That's an odd way for a Solman to phrase it." Mentally, Daryesh swore. Damn this body, anyway! The strength, the fineness of coordination and perception, half the senses he had known, were missing from it. The gross brain structure couldn't hold the reasoning powers he had once had. His thinking was dull and sluggish. He made blunders the old Daryesh would never have committed. And this young woman was quick to see them, and he was a prisoner of John Laird's deadly enemies, and the mind of Laird himself was tangled in thought and will and memory, ready to fight him if he gave the least sign of-- The Solarian's ego chuckled nastily. Easy, Daryesh, easy! Shut up! his mind snapped back, and he knew drearily that his own trained nervous system would not have been guilty of such a childishly emotional response. "I may as well tell you the truth, Captain Rostov," he said aloud. "I am not Laird at all. Not any more." She made no response, merely drooped the lids over her eyes and leaned back in her chair. He noticed abstractedly how long her lashes were--or was that Laird's appreciative mind, unhindered by too much remembrance of Ilorna? They sat alone, the two of them, in her small cabin aboard the Janyard cruiser. A guard stood outside the door, but it was closed. From time to time they would hear a dull thump or clang as the heavy machines of Vwyrdda were dragged aboard--otherwise they might have been the last two alive on the scarred old planet.