"We don't want to get rid of you, Jeff." There were unaccustomed lines in the freighter captain's face and a softness which had not been there since he bade goodby to his children back on Earth five months ago. "We've hated to lose you. And now you're back again, you want us to shoot you!" Their hands met and wrung hard together. "Welcome back!" It was a pleasant thing for the derelict Thorne to hear once more. But he knew. "I can't come back, Joy, though I thank you. I'm a t'ang drinker and, as such, I lose all rights." "You're cured, man! You've proved that. You're alive! The berries and leaves you ate destroyed your craving. We can prove it in any court of law, any space commission. Drink a barrel of the stuff in their faces." "Perhaps I'm cured. I think so now, but there may be a relapse. Anyhow, cured or not, there's a strict law on the books and it isn't going to be lifted to allow me to return to Earth or any of the Lines. Too many aren't cured." Fraser scowled. "You are. What about the others? Can't they--?" "Do I know what I ate? The proportions? What went with what and how much? I was dizzy as a loon. All I really remember clearly is eating t'ang berries. Deadly poison. Can a cure be mixed with ingredients like that?" Fraser was not daunted. "Perhaps you can't force the law, Thorne. But you do know what cured you. Work out a cure. Get the botanists and biologists on it, man. Let them do the work, if it _is_ your clue. Flying isn't the only thing in life, Jeff." "Do I look like a fountain, to start research on the course, Joy?" Thorne surveyed his rags in a spotted mirror on the wall of the freighter's little surgery. "I look like the subject matter." "You can do anything with money, lad." "And do I look like money, Joy?" "Not at present, of course. But when we reach Vulhan City, you can look as you like. Ye're wealthy, lad. Wealthier than Donaldson o' the Line." "Which of us has been drinking the t'ang, Joy?" "This is no dream, pipe or any other kind, Jeff." The captain held up a small, broken sliver of irridescent golden amber, clamped in a leaden grip, which he had taken from the cabinet as Thorne jeered. "I think you'll find it worth about one hundred and seventy thousand, lad. One hundred and seventy thousand. Think it over. Ye had it caught in your clothes when we found ye." * * * * * Martineau, Captain of the Port at Vulhan City, snapped the inter-office switch in impatience. His voice cracked sharply. "I will not see Captain Thorne, Miss Gurn. You know that as well as I do! You hear?" Miss Gurn's voice was tremulous, but determined. "I know, sir, but he insists on seeing you. It is--" "Have Williams throw him out, Miss Gurn," snapped the Port Captain. "How in Karac's name did you let him in, anyway?" "He says it is Government business, sir. He refuses to go. And Lieutenant Williams is not here."