If the small one were that ticklish a proposition, the larger one would be more brutal in its operation. Yet he continued to work on the thing as a means of keeping his mind and hands busy. So night after night he worked in the little workshop, and then as he grew drowsy at his bench, Guy would stand under the stars upon the spiderweb of a foot-bridge that connected the governmental offices with the governmental apartments. He would look Solward and wonder how and why such a mess had been made of his life, and whether happiness would always be out of grasp. He counted on his fingers. He'd been kidnaped, and he'd spent a year on Ertene. That was one. There was a year or so developing the barrier-screen--that made two. There were five years of advancing from senior executive to marshal's rank, and that made seven. It was a year since his being discharged from the Terran Space Patrol, and that made eight years. Eight long years since he hadn't had a care on his mind. And in spite of his successes, there was that constant gnawing knowledge that he was not true to himself or his fellows. Yet, his conscience was clear. The knowledge had not been bad for his morale; it was merely disconcerting to know that the things they gave him credit for were not his own. Maynard did not consider for one moment that Ertene hadn't given him everything. It took inventive genius to fit the barrier to spacecraft, and the other developments were all Maynard's own. But he scorned them all and debased himself. It was eight long, lonely years ago-- He mentally kicked himself. He wondered whether Joan Forbes would have made a difference in his life. She might have been the outlet to pent-up feelings that he needed so badly. Joan would have given him rest without asking suspicious questions. It might have been better-- But Joan was dead, and though Thomakein claimed that she would have been there anyway, it did little to cheer him up. Thomakein's reasoning did not include the possibility that Joan might have been making a home for him, or that even the tiniest mite of family would have immobilized her against following a planet invasion. Joan Forbes, thought Maynard, might have been the answer--but at the present time she was another blind alley of thought. _Might have been_ is the cry of the second-guesser; the Monday Morning Quarterback. * * * * * The sense of thermal balance that was high in Maynard warned him first. Then that sense that tells of another sentient being close by, its warning, and Guy turned to see a small figure beside him on the bridge. "Elanane," she said. "Don't say it," he warned softly. "I can watch the stars, too." "They're so silent and quiet and big." "And peaceful," agreed Guy. "I've been lonesome," said Leilanane plaintively. It was with effort that Maynard resisted the impulse to put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you now?" he asked softly. She shook her head. "Elanane, I want to talk."