Carl reached over clamping his gloved hands on Edgerton's shoulders. Quickly, he raked the steel-tipped fingers of both hands down the man's back. There was a tearing noise, as the open-collared shirt ripped apart at the seams, revealing a broad fleshy back--smooth-looking except for where an angry gash dipped in a deep U between the shoulder blades. He jerked his thumb back to where the chowls were chattering restlessly in their cages. "In case you don't know it," he said, "chowls are humanoid. They're the only things on this planet with any sign of intelligence. Killing them's not only murder. It's worse than murder. It's genocide! All that has to happen is for this story to get back to Terra, and you'll have every quack who can wield a scalpel up here cutting the lungs out of these poor creatures!" Alongside him, he was aware of Diane getting sick inside her helmet. Ferguson coughed. "Since you were apparently aware of this all the time, Keating, just why did you come along?" Ferguson asked. "I wasn't aware of it all along. It wasn't till I saw Dr. Hamlin nursing Spero's jaw that I began to wonder why he wanted a doctor along in the first place. He needed you to finance the trip, and he needed me to pilot the ship. But why Dr. Hamlin unless there was some need for a surgeon? Then I remembered the chowls, and everything began to fall into place." Ferguson sat down on one of the wooden cases. "As usual Keating, you're not being very logical. As a matter of fact, he didn't need the good doctor at all. He had two doctors right here. Remember?" Carl nodded. "Yes, I remember," he said grimly. "That was the part of the puzzle that didn't fit. But now I think I've even got the answer to that." "Do tell?" "Yes, I'll tell you," Carl said ruthlessly. "It was because with all the build-up these would-be-gods gave you about this immortality gimmick, they were sick to death of it. They were sick of the loneliness, sick of the rain, sick of the color of purple. In short, they were sick of this foul planet and were willing to trade it in for whatever the earth had to offer them! That's where Dr. Hamlin came in." Doggedly, Carl spun on Edgerton, trying to draw the tatters of his shirt back across his back. "Who's lungs were you going to take, Mr. Edgerton? Mine, or Stewart Ferguson's?" He was aware of Diane pulling on his arm. He turned to the two men in the mud-splattered jumpers. "We're leaving for Terra in an hour," he said crisply. "Are you coming, or staying?" Ferguson and Hamlin stared at each other. "Make up your mind!" Abruptly, Dr. Hamlin walked over to where Diane was standing. "I'm an old man," he said. "All I have back on Earth is twenty years at the most. Stay with me, Diane?" Breathlessly, Carl watched the girl--watched her shake her head, slowly. "How about you?" he asked Ferguson.