He saw the Mutant, face askew, slide drunkenly to the blood-patterned floor. Then cool hands were on his wrists, on his brow, and sanity began to return again. "Darling!" Narda said in a husky voice that was distilled music, and drew down his golden head against a priceless gown that was all blue shadows and pin-points of lights, to stanch the blood from his cut lips. Her violet eyes were bright with unshed tears, but in the odd, slurred melody of her haunting voice there was no tremor as she asked, "What on Io's happened? Were you recognized by any chance? _And a Mutant...!_" "Hardly think so ... still.... Oh, forget it, this is not a night for problems. Did anyone ever tell you that your eyes are in Heaven," he grinned irresistibly with a charm that made him seem younger. "No! None of your ... what was it your barbaric ancestors called it?... _blarney!_" It was then she noticed the tell-tale silver flood at the roots of his yellow mane, and her heart stood still. _The Silver Plague!_ Carefully she lighted a cigarette and blew a perfect smoke-ring into the icy air, she brushed an imaginary tobacco speck from lips that were like red roses. And when she spoke Narda was perfectly calm. "I came to find you because they're going to play the _Ecstasiana_ with a native orchestra from Ganymede--the muted viols and flute-like instruments, and those weird violins of that strange race.... We danced it the first time we met. Remember, my dear?" Her eyes were radiant as if all her tears were concentrated in her heart, leaving only their sparkle behind. * * * * * He nodded silently. He was too full of the racking knowledge that all his dreams had been destroyed by this alien malady that turned the hair to gleaming silver, and rendered them sterile. That, and his terrible love for this exquisite, gallant being who had consecrated her youth and brains and loveliness to the only ideal in the chaos of their lives--The _Dekka_. And as they turned to go, the tiny tele-rad on Julian's wrist began to flash a pin-point of light in a complicated code. They both watched instantly alert, translating the urgent message with the ease of years of experience. The message was peremptory--final. They were to repair to the Dekka's ancestral Hall without delay for a plenary session. The laconic order ceased as the instrument went blank. Julian Varon looked at Narda for a long moment. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "We'll have to leave right away, it may be _emergency_!" Narda nodded. "We'll have barely time to change in the spacer." From below, the strain of the _Ecstasiana_ rose to engulf them in a flood of melody.