Produced by Greg Weeks, Meredith Bach, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories, November, 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Curly brackets and a preceding underscore have been used to indicate subscripted numbers.] AMAZING STORIES SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL THE PLANET SAVERS By MARION ZIMMER BRADLEY ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK A SHORT NOVEL the planet savers _Marion Zimmer Bradley has written some of the finest science fiction in print. She has been away from our pages too long. So this story is in the nature of a triumphant return. It could well be her best to date._ By the time I got myself all the way awake I thought I was alone. I was lying on a leather couch in a bare white room with huge windows, alternate glass-brick and clear glass. Beyond the clear windows was a view of snow-peaked mountains which turned to pale shadows in the glass-brick. Habit and memory fitted names to all these; the bare office, the orange flare of the great sun, the names of the dimming mountains. But beyond a polished glass desk, a man sat watching me. And I had never seen the man before. He was chubby, and not young, and had ginger-colored eyebrows and a fringe of ginger-colored hair around the edges of a forehead which was otherwise quite pink and bald. He was wearing a white uniform coat, and the intertwined caduceus on the pocket and on the sleeve proclaimed him a member of the Medical Service attached to the Civilian HQ of the Terran Trade City. I didn't stop to make all these evaluations consciously, of course. They were just part of my world when I woke up and found it taking shape around me. The familiar mountains, the familiar sun, the strange man. But he spoke to me in a friendly way, as if it were an ordinary thing to find a perfect stranger sprawled out taking a siesta in here. "Could I trouble you to tell me your name?" That was reasonable enough. If I found somebody making himself at home in my office--if I had an office--I'd ask him his name, too. I started to swing my legs to the floor, and had to stop and steady myself with one hand while the room drifted in giddy circles around me. [Illustration: The man in the mirror was a stranger.] "I wouldn't try to sit up just yet," he remarked, while the floor calmed down again. Then he repeated, politely but insistently, "Your name?" "Oh, yes. My name." It was--I fumbled through layers of what felt like gray fuzz, trying to lay my tongue on the most familiar of all sounds, my own name. It was--why, it was--I said, on a high rising note, "This is damn silly," and swallowed. And swallowed again. Hard. "Calm down," the chubby man said soothingly. That was easier said than done. I stared at him in growing panic and demanded, "But, but, have I had amnesia or something?" "Or something."