Lors leaped to the cockpit and opened the plastic-dome; he dropped lithely into the seat, his feet moving automatically to the rudder pedals, his hands impatiently fingering the controls. So much was coming back. So many remembrances with each second of time. He was _not_ Nicholas Howard Danson, and he had never been! He was Firstspacer Lors of the 8th. Terran Command, and he felt his heart thrill to the knowledge of who he was and where he was. It was slow, this strange process of regaining his mind, but it was coming along. He would soon be whole again, no longer some freak caught in the vortex between two worlds. "Ready?" Narvi asked, slipping into the seat beside him and pulling the cockpit shield into place. "Ready. Where's the starship?" "Bearing 204.5, off-planet. We'll be there in no time." The barn door swung open as Narvi started the scout ship and they moved out into the night, hovering a foot off the barn floor until they were outside. Narvi conned the ship, working the verti-control expertly and the little craft whistled upward at a gentle speed. The radar screen before them disclosed no aircraft in the area. Narvi grinned at Lors and shoved the speed control forward, working the elevators with his other hand and the scout ship streaked into the night sky. Home. Lors, watching the screen, saw the oblong shape of the mother ship blurp into view and called out its position to his friend. At once, Narvi altered the course, whipping the scout ship onto a collision bearing. When they were close enough, they used their signal and heard it answered. The ship slipped in easily as the port opened in the starship's side. Narvi guided the craft in with tender hands and settled it gently on the floor. A positioner hooked a line to the ship and pulled it quickly into the repair bins. A light winked in the wall. The area was again pressurized. They climbed out and dropped to the floor as a crew of repair men went to work on the ship. Narvi slapped Lors on the arm. "I'm going below for a drink. Join Me?" Lors shook his head. "No, thanks. I might be down a bit later, but right now I'd best talk to the Commander." "Right. Just don't tell him that you're thinking of jilting his only daughter for an alien, or he'll turn four different shades of purple." Lors grinned and watched the big blond stride away to the elevator that would take him down to the bar on the first level. Then he walked off in the opposite direction, heading toward the forward end of the ship where he would find his "future" father-in-law, Commander Zark. Spacers, in the gleaming halls, saluted him in the traditional manner - a hand clasped to the hip that held their holstered auto-pistol - and it was a good feeling. He had almost forgotten. The Commander's guards stopped him outside the door, but when he explained who he was and what he wanted, they nodded in unison. One of them pressed a button which opened the door to the vestibule outside the Commander's office.