"A personnel supervisor from Beachville," Larue said. "She was sunbathing when the plane arrived to pick her up and had no time to obtain other clothing. Father Brenn firmly insisted upon losing not one minute of time during this emergency." A crane rumbled into view and its grapples seized the huge object that had fallen. "Our central air-conditioning unit," Larue said. "It had to go." "You're putting something else in its place, of course?" "Oh yes. We must have more space but Father Brenn opposed the plan of building an annex as too dangerously time consuming. The only alternative is to tear out everything not absolutely essential." Kane left shortly afterward, satisfied that the Saints were doing as Brenn had said. * * * * * He went back out in the spring sunshine where the turbo-car was still waiting for him, debated briefly with himself, and dismissed the driver. After so many weeks in the prison-like ship, it would be pleasant to walk again. [Illustration] A grassy, tree-covered ridge ran like the swell of a green sea between the plant and the town. He stopped on top of it, where the town was almost hidden from view, and looked out across the wide valley. Shadows moved lazily across it as cotton-puff clouds drifted down the blue dome of the sky, great white birds like swans were soaring overhead, calling to one another in voices like the singing of violins, bringing again the memories of the Lost Islands-- "And the Vogarian lord gazed upon his world and found it good!" He swung around, his hand dropping to his holstered blaster, and looked into the green, mocking eyes of a tawny-haired girl. She was beautiful, in the savage way that the hill leopards of Vogar were beautiful, and her hand was on a pistol in her belt. Her eyes flickered from his blaster up to his face, bright with challenge. "Want to try it?" she asked. She wore a short skirt of some rough material and her knees were dusty, as though she had walked for a long way. These things he noticed only absently, his eyes going back to the bold, beautiful face. For twenty years he had been accustomed to the women of Vogar; colorless in their Party uniforms and men's haircuts, made even more drab by the masculine mannerisms they affected. Not since the spring the Lost Islands died had he seen a girl like the one before him. "Well?" she asked. "Do you think you'll know me next time?" He walked to her, while she watched him with catlike wariness. "Hand me that pistol," he ordered. "Try to take it, you Vogarian ape!" He moved, and a moment later she was sitting on the ground, her eyes wide with dismayed surprise as he shoved the pistol in his own belt. "Resisting a Vogarian with a deadly weapon calls for the death penalty," he said. "I suppose you know what I can do?" She got up, defiance like a blaze about her. "I'll tell you what you can do--you can go to hell!"