They stared, and someone raised a ragged cheer. Over the black square-built houses of the inner city they could make out the metal nose of a freighter. Takahashi squinted. "It's Denebian, I think," he said. "Looks as if man isn't the only race which has suffered from these scum." "All right, boys," said Helena. "Let's go in and get it." They went down a long empty avenue which ran spear-straight for the center. The porticoed houses gaped with wells of blackness at their passage, looming in cracked and crazily leaning massiveness on either side, throwing back the hollow slam of their boots. Donovan heard the uneasy mutter of voices to his rear: "_Don't like this place.... Haunted.... They could be waiting anywhere for us...._" The wind blew a whirl of snow across their path. _Basil. Basil, my dear._ Donovan's head jerked around, and he felt his throat tighten. Nothing. No movement, no sound, emptiness. _Basil, I am calling you. No one else can hear._ _Why are you with these creatures, Basil? Why are you marching with the oppressors of your planet? We could free Ansa, Basil, given time to raise our armies. We could sweep the Terrans before us and hound them down the ways of night. And yet you march against us._ "Valduma," he whispered. _Basil, you were very dear to me. You were something new and strong and of the future, come to our weary old world, and I think I loved you._ _I could still love you, Basil. I could hold you forever, if you would let me._ "Valduma--have done!" A mocking ripple of laughter, sweet as rain in springtime, the gallantry of a race which was old and sick and doomed and could still know mirth. Donovan shook his head and stared rigidly before him. It was as if he had laid hands on that piece of his soul which had been lost, and she was trying to wrench it from him again. Only he wanted her to win. _Go home, Basil. Go home with this female of yours. Breed your cubs, fill the house with brats, and try to think your little round of days means something. Strut about under the blue skies, growing fat and gray, bragging of what a great fellow you used to be and disapproving of the younger generation. As you like, Basil. But don't go out to space again. Don't look at the naked stars. You won't dare._ "No," he whispered. She laughed, a harsh bell of mockery ringing in his brain. _You could have been a god--or a devil. But you would rather be a pot-bellied Imperial magistrate. Go home, Basil Donovan, take your female home, and when you are wakened at night by her--shall we say her breathing?--do not remember me._