There was hate in Kimball Trent again, the surging twisting of emotions that had driven him in the days he had fought the monsters from infinity. It had lain dormant the last few days, stifled by his thoughts of the centuries he had slept, smothered by his fear that the world was dead and he alive. Now, knowing the way in which men lived on their planet, the hate came alive again, and he could feel the muscles of his body swelling against his harness. "And nothing can be done?" he asked. "Nothing!" Valur shook his head. "The Masters cannot be slain, and they hunt us like animals with their broks. We try now only to stay alive, praying for a miracle." His eyes swung to Trent. "It may be that _you_ are that miracle." Kimball Trent flushed, feeling helpless and naked and impotent. "We fought," he said, "and our weapons were of no avail. The men who might have devised new weapons are all dead, and I do not have the knowledge for manufacturing along new lines of thought." The Elder's voice was gentle. "We shall win," he said. "We shall win eventually, for men were never meant to crawl as animals." His voice changed. "We shall call you 'Trent'," he finished, "and say that you are a Barb from Connet, for my people will not believe the tale you tell. Or if they did believe, they might think you a superman, and that would not be good." The light of an entrance ahead came into view as they rounded a corner in the tunnel. They could hear voices; and the odors of cooking came on the faint breeze. Trent shivered suddenly. This was not the way that he thought the world would be. Never in even his wildest dreams had he thought Earth could be conquered. Now it was so, and the future was a hopeless thing, Earthmen fighting with feather-weapons against the invulnerable armor of the Gharrians. They stepped from the tunnel, and Lura joined them from where she stood with Korm and another man. Her gaze was level and inscrutable as she studied Trent's face. "Did he lie?" she asked. "He spoke the truth," the Elder said evenly. Lura smiled then, and the warmth of her smile was like the soothing fingers of a Summer breeze stroking Trent's features. "I am glad," she said simply. "One who faces a Master and his brok should be one of us." She beckoned to Korm. "You fought once; now meet as friends." Korm grinned, held out his hand. "My sister told me of how you saved her; I am your friend." He tensed the muscles of his proud neck, winced instinctively. "Some time you must show me that fighting trick; never before have I been bested in battle." "Any time," Kimball Trent said. "Come," Valur said. "Light talk shall wait until later." Kimball Trent turned to follow his guides, conscious of the slim girl at his side, wondering how any woman could be so fearlessly reliant and so feminine at the same time. He glanced at the blond giant, saw the knowing look that came to the grey eyes when they went from him to Lura, and hotness flooded upward from his throat.