Birrel had been close to death before, but never closer. Those hands clamped down, shutting off voice and breath, and the weight of a powerful body bore on him, holding him. He heard quick harsh breathing, and then the booming of his own blood in his ears drowned it out. He clawed at the wrists that would not be moved, and felt the first cold edge of darkness sliding over him. Then memory circuits clicked over--circuits long unused, but needing only the right stimulus to activate them. Birrel put his two clenched fists together and rammed them upward with the desperate strength of an animal that knows it has to shake itself loose or die. The fists hit something and there was a noise in the dark above him. The hands on his throat loosened a little and he thrashed his arms up and back at the same time he got what purchase he could with his feet and heaved. The hands let go. The body floundered on him, not wanting to be thrown off. He pounded at it, wildly, viciously, gasping air into his lungs. He felt hair under his fingers. He grabbed a fistful of it and hauled it sideways. Someone whimpered and cursed, not making much noise about it. He hauled and heaved and the body rolled off him and thumped onto the floor. Instantly, Birrel threw himself on top of it. And now it was his turn. He dug his knee into a yielding belly and heard the breath go out. Fists flailed at his face but he kept his head pulled in between his hunched-up shoulders. He pawed in the dark and found an ear, and then another one, and he held onto them like handles and beat the skull between them up and down on the floor. "Who is it?" he snarled. "Vannevan? No, he doesn't like his odds this even. But he sent you, didn't he?" A hoarse, half-articulate "_No!_" came from the man pinned beneath him. Birrel paused. "The devil he didn't." "The devil he did. I'd kill that murdering bastard too, if I could get my hands on him." The man squirmed and sobbed for breath. "Anyway, why would Vannevan want to kill you? You're going to help him." "How do you know?" asked Birrel, his eyes narrowing in the dark. "The whole underground knows it. You're helping him get fissionables from your world. Why do you think I'm here? To keep you from doing it!" He erupted into sudden action, catching Birrel off guard as he grappled with this new concept of an Irrian underground opposed to Vannevan. It wasn't too surprising, remembering those sullen faces in the streets. But then they were rolling over, clawing and pounding at each other. Now, though, Birrel's movements were chiefly defensive. "Hold it," he panted. "Hold it! I've got an idea that we're on the same side." The man laughed hoarsely and went on hunting for his throat. "All right," said Birrel. "We'll play it your way."