"I'm hungry," he said, "and thirsty." That was an appeal that could not be ignored. "I'll let you in," she said after a moment's hesitation. "But I have a gun." "I don't," he answered, spreading his hands and turning so she could see all around his belt. The inner airlock door opened, and Shaan entered the dome. The smell of the air brought memories of his boyhood on Earth. The girl stood away from him, holding the heat-gun on him steadily. She had brown eyes and red-gold hair that tumbled to her shoulders. Shaan judged her to be about seventeen years old. Shaan smiled at her through his blond beard, and she lowered the muzzle of the gun. He could move now, but they probably were being watched from the house. And any minute she might discover the brand on his dirty face. "Where's your father?" he asked. "Or your husband?" "Where are your oxygen tanks?" she countered, the gun coming up again. "Ran out of oxygen," he replied. "They're in the sage just outside the dome. I got here just in time. The straps broke on them and I'd been carrying them in my arms for six hours." Apparently the answer satisfied her. "I'm Lori MkDowl," she said. "My father hasn't come in from the mine yet. Come on up to the house." Now? No. They probably were still being watched from the house. He walked across the lawn of Earth grass with her. * * * * * It was a small plastic-brick house like any Martian house. As they entered the parlor, a long-legged girl of about fifteen left an open front window, a heat-gun dangling in her hand. "Is he harmless, Lori?" she asked. "I think so," said Lori. "Mr. Shaan, this is my sister, Vali." Vali MkDowl laid her heat-gun on a table and held out a hand to Shaan in frank welcome. Her hair was black and her deep blue eyes held more curiosity and less reserve than those of her sister. Lori had laid her gun aside, too. His task would be made easier, Shaan thought, by the fact that these teen-aged sisters probably didn't see a young man oftener than once a year and were lonesome. "I'd like to talk to your mother, girls," said Shaan, more to confirm a suspicion than anything else. "Mother's dead," said Vali. "We live here alone with father." "But we can take care of ourselves, Mr. Shaan," warned Lori, her hand near her gun. "I'm sure you can. Do you mind if I clean up a little?" "Bathroom's across the hall," said Lori. "I'll fix supper." The marsuits were hanging in the hall: Lori's, Vali's and an extra one that looked like it was big enough for Shaan. He stripped off his own worn and dirty one, emerging in brown coveralls, and went into the bathroom. While he washed, his nebulous plan of action crystalized. First he must gain possession of the heat-guns in the house and cripple the dome radio. It would be dangerous, maintaining constant watch over three hostile people, but he could live here indefinitely while evolving a permanent plan of existence.