Carefully Kerry lowered himself toward the bed. Ben winced, warding him away with a clumsy forward movement of his shoulders. In tight-lipped concern Kerry drew up a chair, and leaned forward. “Why should they do a thing like that?” he asked. “I’m _trying_ to tell you!” The raw flesh around Ben’s mouth contracted in a spasm that could have been agony--or anger. “I’ll give you a story that will shake the world!” “If he can print it,” said a tight voice behind them. Lew Fallon came in, shutting the door carefully behind him. Instantly Ben twisted on the bed, in a convulsive movement of pain and fear. “What does he mean? Kerry, tell me. I must know. Can you print it? Do we still have a free press?” “What the devil--” Kerry remembered that Ben was a very sick man, and compassionately amended his tone. “Of course we have a free press. Why not? Where have you been, to ask that?” Ben Thrusher said, his voice muffled, “I’ve been on the moon.” In three incredulous strides Kerry was across the room, uncradling the telephone. Lew Fallon took a catlike step toward him. “What are you going to do?” he demanded. Kerry let the dial spin back. “I’m going to call a doctor,” he said. “Ben needs help.” Lew Fallon wrenched the receiver from his hand. “Oh, no you’re not,” he said, his voice defiant. As Kerry broke away the bandaged man on the bed stirred. “Let him alone, Lew,” Ben pleaded. Then, more quietly: “Kerry, you idiot, come over here and listen to me. I’m not going to be able to talk much longer. My throat’s giving me hell. I haven’t the time nor the strength to spend hours softening you up and trying to convince you. You’ve got to trust me, Kerry! I haven’t got many words left and I’ll be damned if I’ll waste them--” His voice thinned and he lay back, his face ashen. There were dark stains on the rumpled pillow. Kerry returned to the bed, and sat down. He said, “Do you mean the Pharigs have a prison base on--our moon?” “No, not the Pharigs!” Ben spoke with a flare of furious energy, then sank back helplessly, pressing one of his useless hands against his throat. Lew Fallon brought him a glass of water from a pitcher on the bureau, and Kerry supported him while he drank it, in great greedy swallows. Kerry could feel the fever heat in the man’s skin. He pleaded, “Ben, if you’re afraid to go to a hospital, let me take you home to Ruthie. I know a doctor who can be trusted--” “Ruthie!” Ben’s eyes brightened in momentary warm gratefulness. Then he shook his head. “Thanks, Kerry. But I’ve no intention of making it difficult for her. I’ve only a day or two left. It’s just that--I didn’t want to crawl in a hole and die like a rat without a word to anybody.” His eyes closed and Kerry thought for a moment that he had fainted. He arose, and began to tiptoe across the room. Maybe he could persuade Lew Fallon to some logical course of action.