How far had he strayed in his fever-wanderings? How long had it been since delirium struck? He ran his fingers over cheek and chin: a three days' growth of beard at least ... maybe more. Not that it mattered. For he was alive; and out of horror, hypothesis had been born. If, truly, the materializing monsters and Titan fever were weapons of the beleaguered Helgae, then a truce must somehow be arranged, even if it meant complete human withdrawal from all satellites of Saturn. That called for action by the Federation: action which the Cartel's chiefs would fight with tooth and nail. Yet IC might well defeat itself by its own opposition. All apart from any Helgae menace, the Independents would rally instantly to whatever cause should threaten to disrupt the Cartel's mekronal production. But that could wait; Eileen could not. Here, now, somehow, he had to save her. Or was that hopeless? Only time and fate could give the answers. Meanwhile, the least that he could do was try. Unsteadily, Boone rose. He cursed the fever that had drained his strength. It was then he heard the crashing blaster bolt beyond the ridge, off to his right, away from the Helgae city. Again, his heart leaped. Blasters spoke for men, not Helgae--human help, here on Hyperion with him! Lurching, stumbling, he dragged himself up the hill. At last, the crest. Below, the hull of a ramped Independent carrier, scarlet and silver, came into view. Now strength surged through Boone. He broke into a staggering run, straight down the slope. Only then, as he careened too fast past a brushy thicket, something thrust out between his flying feet. He spilled forward in a bruising, sliding fall. A voice rasped, "Don't move! I've got you covered!" Painfully, Boone twisted. A man stood in the shadow of the thicket--a man with a blaster, a man who wore the blue-grey field outfit of an Interplanetary Cartels guard. The other's lean face split in a mirthless grin as he stalked forward. "You're Boone, aren't you?" And then: "Krobis had you figured. He said you'd come in if you spotted an Independent ship." "Krobis--?" Boone's lips went stiff. "You mean, he's here?" "Of course he's here." The guard chuckled. "You told him about this Helgae city underneath the ice-shell yourself, didn't you? So he set up a base but pronto, with manpower enough to fight off monsters. He plans to start blasting the domes before next cycle, get a mekronal unit into production, and claim Hyperion for the next Cartel." He broke off; gestured to Boone with the blaster. "Get up! We're going in. The way Krobis feels about you, catching you's good for Earth leave and a sergeant's rating." * * * * * Numbly, Boone heaved himself to his feet, stood swaying. Was this to be the end of all his sufferings--back where he started, a prisoner en route to a cell in Venus Barracks? Was the Cartel to go on butchering the Helgae till opposing life-forms clashed in full-scale war?