Holy horrors what's happened? Someone borrowed my legs and put them back wrong; my eyes also are not functioning well, the light is set at Minimum and I am still dazzled. I see a door and make for it to get Explanations from somebody. Arrived, I miss my footing and stumble against the door and on the other side someone says "Hello, Lizzie. Awake at last?" I think my heart stops for a moment. I can't find the latch. I am vaguely aware of beating something with my fists, and then the door gives, sticks, gives again and I stumble through and land on all fours the other side of it. Someone is calling: "Lizzie! Are you hurt? Where the devil have they all got to? Liz!" I sit up and say, "They said you were _dead_!" "_Who_ did?" "I ... I ... someone in the hold. I said How's M'Clare? and they said you were dead." M'Clare frowns and says gently, "Come over here and sit down quietly for a bit. You've been dreaming." Have I? Maybe the whole thing was a dream--but if so how far does it go? Going down in the heli? The missile? The boat? Crawling through the black tunnel of a broken ship? No, because he is sitting in a sort of improvised chaise longue and his legs are evidently strapped in place under the blanket; he is fumbling with the fastening or something. * * * * * I say "Hey! Cut that out!" He straightens up irritably. "Don't you start that, Lysistrata. I've been suffering the attentions of the damnedest collection of amateur nurses who ever handled a thermocouple, for over a week. I don't deny they've been very efficient, but when it comes to--" Over a _week_? He nods. "My dear Lizzie, we left Incognita ten days ago. Amateur nursing again! They have some unholy book of rules which says that for Exposure, Exhaustion and Shock the best therapy is sleep. I don't doubt it, but it goes on to say that in extreme cases the patient has been known to benefit by as much as two weeks of it. I didn't find out that they were trying it on you until about thirty-six hours ago when I began inquiring why you weren't around. They kept me under for three days--in fact until their infernal Handbook said it was time for my leg muscles to have some exercise. Miss Lammergaw was the ring-leader." No wonder my legs feel as though someone exchanged the muscles for cotton wool, just wait till I get hold of Kirsty. If it hadn't been for her, I shouldn't have spent ten days remembering, even in my sleep, that-- I say, "Hell's feathers, it was _you_!" M'Clare makes motions as though to start getting out of his chair, looking seriously alarmed. I say, "It was your voice! When I asked--" M'Clare, quite definitely, starts to blush. Not much, but some.