But at the first step, Ben’s eyes opened. “Come back here, Kerry, and sit down!” he said, raising himself with an effort. “I’m not dead yet! The Army men picked up Chapman, and--_I’m_ supposed to have died in the crash.” His voice held a brief trace of its old vigor, and he put a completely steady hand to his ruined face. “There was faulty radiation shielding in our ship. It was privately built, but you’d be surprised if I told you who financed it. We didn’t have proper facilities to test it. Quite as important, we weren’t fit to stand acceleration. That takes young men--tough, experienced test pilots. Fallon died when we took off. I made it--there and back. But Chapman and I won’t live to be heroes. How about it, Kerry? Is the story worth it?” “Good God,” Kerry said simply. For a moment, his eagerness to get all of the facts outweighed even his concern over Ben’s desperate condition. A dozen urgent questions trembled on his tongue, but he resolutely suppressed his curiosity. “I still say you’d be better off at my house,” he said. Lew Fallon crossed the room to stand beside him. “I’m afraid he’s right,” he said. “There’s an alert out on the Night Police frequency. I was listening just now. I knew it was a mistake to call you at the newspaper building.” Ben said in a barely audible whisper, “I don’t want to get you in trouble if I can help it, Kerry. Or you either, Lew--” Fallon made a reckless gesture of repudiation. “Trouble’s what I’m looking for! This was a free country once! They owe me something for all the years I thought my Dad was dead--” Ben Thrusher sank back against the pillows, his body racked by coughs. When the spasm quieted he muttered, “Remember, Kerry doesn’t know, and we’ve no time now to explain. Can you get us out of here?” “I guess so--if Mister Donalson isn’t afraid to take a few risks,” Fallon said bitterly. Kerry turned on him angrily. “Knock it off, will you? I’m here. Isn’t that enough?” Like many men who lead fairly dull lives and only daydream about adventure, Kerry resented its intrusion into everyday life, and felt almost personally indignant about what seemed like heroics on young Fallon’s part. Still, in some obscure corner of his brain, he _knew_ that Ben was neither raving nor a madman. Fallon had slipped out of the room, and Ben now lay with his eyes closed. But Kerry, seeing the swollen lids flicker, guessed that the dying man was only avoiding questions. It was vitally necessary for him to hoard his small strength, but a furious impatience nagged at Kerry, and he paced the room restlessly until young Fallon reappeared. Over his arm the youth carried a huge, loose raincoat. He said to Kerry, “The place is all locked up for curfew. But there’s a service door. If we get caught, leave everything to me.” He went to the bed and drew back the blankets. “Do you think you can walk, Ben?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.