He closed his eyes again, and this time the delay was shorter. He knew before he looked what had happened. He had lowered the landing ladder. Well, this began to be obvious. He was to leave the ship. And yet, the headache had been worst when he _had_ left the ship. What did that mean? It seemed to mean leaving the ship was a Wrong function. But it was certainly indicated this time, from his opening of the airlock and lowering the ladder. Well, what was Wrong function at one time might well be Right function another time. That could happen. _Leave the ship...._ There was an edge of pleasantness and warmth to that thought, and the headache diminished. "_Please leave the ship, Dick...._" It was almost as if he could hear a warmth in the air saying that to him. Try the alternative. Deliberately he thought: _Stay in the ship_. A flash of pain soared up the back of his head and across the top to settle swirling and agonizingly in his temples. _Leave the ship_, he thought quickly, and the pain abated. Clear enough. He got to his feet and carefully made his way out of the control room down the catwalk toward the airlock that stood open and waiting to let him out of _Phoenix I_.... * * * * * An excited non-com slammed open the door to the radio room and shouted, "The airlock's opening!" Banning and Colin dashed to the broad window and stared out at the bulky shape of _Phoenix I_, resting monolithic on the landing pad. Banning took the proffered binoculars from the non-com, focussed them on the broad flank of the ship. "It's open, all right," he said. "Here." He handed the binoculars to Colin. After a long delay, the landing ladder slid down the side of the ship. "I think he's going to come out." "There he is." "What's he doing?" "Standing in the airlock, looking around. Now he's starting to come down. Now he's at the bottom of the ladder, looking around again.... Now he's walking this way." "Give me the glasses," Banning said. He looked for a long moment, making sure the colonel's direction did not change. "Still coming this way," he said, putting the glasses carefully on the table by the window. He turned to look at the psychiatrist. "What now?" Colin shrugged. "Get him." "Sergeant!" Banning called. "Sergeant, take five men...." * * * * * The room in which they put him was comfortable and secure. Very secure. The bed was firmly welded to the wall, the table bolted to the floor. There was nothing movable or detachable in the room. The three microphones picked up little but the shuffle of feet; cameras dutifully imprinted on film the image of a man pacing restlessly back and forth, examining the fixtures of the room without apparent anxiety or curiosity. "No trouble at all," Banning answered Colin's question. "He didn't even see the patrol. Spray shot of Somnol in the arm and that was it."