Her face, Dowland thought, was probably no whiter than his own. The canopy had caved in around him, and a jagged chunk of engine was nestling in the passenger seat to his right. As he tried to stand up, a section of the plastic floorboard collapsed; his foot followed it through and struck solid ground. He worked himself out of the seat. The grid-car creaked tiredly and settled another six inches. Dowland shoved a piece of canopy aside and found he could straighten out. He cleared his throat. "I don't think I'm hurt. Anyway, not much." "Your face--it's bleeding!" Dowland probed at a cut lip with his tongue and winced. "Didn't notice it happen ... a lot of stuff flying around there for a moment. Now, just what's going on?" The girl swallowed nervously, staring at him. "The power's off." "That I noticed." Something occurred to Dowland. "That's why you couldn't call me on the communicator." "Yes. I...." "How long has it been off here?" "Since this morning." He looked at her thoughtfully, and a quick flush spread up into her face. "I know," she said. "It was terribly stupid of me to--to get you to come down. It just didn't occur to me that...." "It's all right," Dowland said. "I'm here now." She was very good-looking, though her face was strained at the moment. Strained and scared. "You could not know how far the failure area extended." He glanced over at the buildings. The crash of his landing hadn't brought anyone into sight. "You're not alone here, are you?" "No." She hesitated, went on half apologetically, "I'm sure I should remember you, but I don't." "Well, you wouldn't," Dowland said. "I'm not a Freeholder." * * * * * The flicker of reaction in her eyes brought a prickling to the hairs at the back of his neck. The thing looked hot, all right. He continued, "You just may have heard of me by name, though. Frank Dowland, of Dowland Animal Exports." "Oh, yes." Apparently she did recognize the name. "I'm Jill Trelawney, Dowland. I ... there's been an accident. A bad one, I'm afraid." "Another accident? What kind?" She shook her head. "I don't know. Do you have a medical kit with you?" "Of course. Who's hurt?" "My uncle. Miguel Trelawney. He's up in the house." "What's wrong with him?" "That's what I don't know. He looks--I think he's terribly sick. In some way." "How long has he been sick?" She hesitated. "This morning." "Since the time the grid-power went off?" Jill looked startled. "Why, yes." And that about cinched it, Dowland thought. He said, "You two were alone here?" "No. I'm sure this all sounds very crazy, but--" She nodded at one of the buildings down the slope from them, a long wooden structure identified as a feed barn in Dowland's pictures of the ranch. "My other uncle, Paul Trelawney--he's locked up in there." "Locked up?" Dowland repeated. "Yes. There's a key to the door somewhere, but I can't find it." "Would Miguel know where it is?" "I think so."