"It certainly implies a stability and individual recognition of responsibility that has never existed among us. I doubt that it ever will." "Someday it _might_." "We won't be around." "There's something else, too," Underwood said. "This may be the way out for us. It could be." "What do you mean?" "Suppose just one of us had the power Jandro has. That would be the weapon against Demarzule that we need!" Terry hesitated. "We're not likely to get that power--and if we did, we could never get near enough to Demarzule to use it." "No? Suppose we let the fleet capture us and take us back. It's my guess that Demarzule wants us alive. His pleasure in our downfall should come from personally witnessing our defeat. It would fit his character. So we'll be brought back as prisoners. Then all that would be necessary would be to dispose of him just as Jandro did with Rennies." "You're forgetting that Demarzule has the same organs and the same powers. You don't know what kind of defense could be offered against them--perhaps they are immune to such attacks themselves. That would explain this mystery of Dragboran civilization. Maybe Demarzule could detect it if any of us possessed the organs. Lastly, there is absolutely no possibility of our getting them, anyway." * * * * * Underwood's face darkened. "That's the one thing I haven't figured out yet, but there's got to be a way. It looks as if this is the only hope left us to destroy the alien. We'd have to defeat the whole fleet to continue searching for the Dragboran weapon, and there's no chance of that." "I hope you're right. Well, the anesthetic has had time to act. Let's revive our men and set to work on it." They made sure of their weapons, and left the control room. Within the whole ship there was no sound except their footsteps in the corridor. One by one, they opened the stateroom doors as they went down toward the locks. They held the cloths moistened with the restoring vapors to the nostrils of each of their own men. The first were Dreyer and Phyfe. Mason and his crew were found in the next room toward the stern. Quick explanations were made and those revived went to the task of restoring still others. In Illia's stateroom, they found her lying composed upon her bunk. For a moment, as he looked down upon her serene features, Underwood forgot the intense urgency of his tasks. He tried to recall just why he had been willing to sacrifice the life that Illia and he had hoped to share--sacrifice, because she had believed in man, while Underwood had wanted only escape from the pressure of an erratic and chaotic society. Surely that life together would not have been postponed if he could have seen the choices earlier as he saw them now. Was it too late to hope now for reprieve from the destruction that hovered over them? He dared not answer. Gently, he restored her to consciousness.