Rossel was one of the ones that would not be going. Dylan saw him standing by the airlock holding his wife in his arms, his face buried in her soft brown hair. A sense of great sympathy, totally unexpected, rose up in Dylan, and a little of the lostness of thirty years went slipping away. These were his people. It was a thing he had never understood before, because he had never once been among men in great trouble. He waited and watched, learning, trying to digest this while there was still time. Then the semi-naked colonists were inside and the airlock closed. But when the ship tried to lift, there was a sharp burning smell--she couldn't get off the ground. * * * * * Rush was sitting hunched over in the snow, his rifle across his knees. He was coated a thick white and if he hadn't spoken Dylan would have stumbled over him. Dylan took out his pistol and sat down. "What happened?" Rush asked. "Lining burned out. She's being repaired." "Coincidence?" Dylan shook his head. "How long'll it take to fix?" "Four--five hours." "It'll be night by then." Rush paused. "I wonder." "Seems like they want to wait 'til dark." "That's what I was figurin'. Could be they ain't got much of a force." Dylan shrugged. "Also could mean they see better at night. Also could mean they move slow. Also could mean they want the least number of casualties." Rush was quiet and the snow fell softly on his face, on his eyebrows, where it had begun to gather. At length he said, "You got any idea how they got to the ship?" Dylan shook his head again. "Nobody saw anything--but they were all pretty busy. Your theory about it maybe being one of us is beginning to look pretty good." The colonist took off his gloves, lit a cigarette. The flame was strong and piercing and Dylan moved to check him, but stopped. It didn't make much difference. The aliens knew where they were. And this is right where we're gonna be, he thought. "You know," he said suddenly, speaking mostly to himself, "I been in the army thirty years, and this is the first time I was ever in a fight. Once in a while we used to chase smugglers--never caught any, their ships were new--used to cut out after unlicensed ships, used to do all kinds of piddling things like that. But I never shot at anybody." Rush was looking off into the woods. "Maybe the mail ship will come in." Dylan nodded. "They got a franchise, dammit. They got to deliver as long as they's a colony here." When Dylan didn't answer, he said almost appealingly: "Some of those guys would walk barefoot through hell for a buck." "Maybe," Dylan said. After all, why not let him hope? There were four long hours left. * * * * *