The lean man with the bald head came around in front of Tyr and stared at him with cold eyes. "I am Space Commander Ronald Mason," he said flatly. "I am in charge of Expeditionary Space Force to the Fornax Cluster. You will offer peace? But there is no war." Tyr held the snarl in his throat as he replied, "But there will be war, unless the _ardth_ are willing to deal with me for the liberty of the Trylla." Mason smiled, but Tyr saw the flecks of passion deep in his ice-blue eyes. "The Trylla are a free race." Tyr said patiently, "The Trylla worship me. They think I am a god. I know, and you know, that I am nothing of the sort. Yet I would help them, if I could. You cannot keep me here, if I seek to escape. I can plunge this planet into the bloodiest war you ever saw. But I do not want to do that. I seek only peace. Peace, and some sort of pride for the Trylla, that they may once again hold up their heads--" Mason interposed, "A laudable desire. But the Trylla are quite content. Otho tells me they will make no trouble. As for your idle boast of escaping--" Space Commander Mason gestured and turned away with, "Test him, Katha. See why his responses vary so far from the norm." Red anger beat up in Tyr in mounting pulsings. He bit into his lip and eased up to the tips of his toes. His muscles writhed. He-- A cool hand touched his forearm. The black eyes were there again, and the red mouth was smiling at him. "The tests? Please?" Tyr licked his lips, confused. He looked at the _ardth_, and down at the girl, whose eyes were sapping the mad rage in his heart. He said, "Yes, the tests." "Follow me." * * * * * The room was big and white, and fantastically clean. Chrome and plasticine gleamed and shone under the bluish-white ceiling that diffused soft brightness into every corner. A fluoroscope machine stood against the north wall. On tables were set scalpels and needles and rolls of cotton. Electronic ray-machines, microscopes and cyclotroncancereas peered beyond them. This was the biochemical science of the Old Ones inside four walls. Katha closed the door behind her and loosed her black cloak. She was garbed in black blouse with a star-and-bar in silver threaded into the material. Tight trousers, white, gave her a streamlined look. "Be comfortable, please. This will not hurt, what I am about to do." Tyr watched her roll a big machine out, saw her thrust a needle with a handle into a jar of white liquid. She saw him watching her, and laughed softly. "You are like a caged animal. You do not like walls, do you?" "No. I prefer the desert." "You have spent all your life on the desert?" "All. Ever since I was small." She turned from a wad of cotton that she was unrolling to regard him thoughtfully from under long black lashes. "A boy. What of your parents?"