Lindsay passed his hand over his face with the gesture of a completely baffled and worn-out man. He looked up at his wife. "Jenna," he pleaded, "is there--?" "Don't you trust me, Ralph?" "My whole being cries out to trust you, Jenna. But there is still wonder." "There is nothing I can say that will erase that. Nothing. If I am actress enough to play treachery, I'm also liar enough to swear a false oath." Lindsay nodded. "Nothing," she repeated dully. "You think a lot of Grant," he said flatly. "I've loved them all," she said. "Grant more than the rest." "Jack, despite his hard exterior, is an understanding soul." "That may save him," muttered Lindsay. "Ralph!" The jocular voice of Jack Grant broke in: "I'm taking off in the battle buggy now." "And then again it may not," said Lindsay harshly. "I'm not a machine, Ralph. I'm a woman." "So was Circe!" "Is that what you think of me?" The loudspeaker chattered: "This is no road for a human being, folks. They paved it with rubble, I think. My tools are rattling around like mad. If any agency is using anything for detection, they're listening to the rattle of machinery in this battle buggy." Jenna and Ralph faced the radio panel and both hated it for its flat tones. But they could not turn it off. "He'll go like Roberts, like Harris," snarled Lindsay. "Like--Lacy." "No!" "We'll see," he said tritely. * * * * * Silence fell, and then the voice again: "I'm approaching the thing. Y'know, it's fearfully quiet out here with the area evacuated and all machinery stopped. The wall shields make the landscape unreal, like the ghost-sequence in a horror movie. Terra was never intended to be seen under a greenish light. You know how people look under mercury vapor lights? That's how Terra looks, sort of." "Jenna?" "Yes Ralph." "You're not ... you're not--?" "What can I say?" she pleaded. "I'm only human." He looked up bitterly. The question was in his eyes. He did not need to voice it. Jenna knew what he was thinking. And he knew that she understood, for the hurt was in her eyes. "Hey!" came Grant's voice. "I've got us a mascot! C'mere, Ears. Nice fella. 'Tis a woebegone pup, spaniel. Lonely and aching for someone to scratch his tummy. Up, Ears! You're my good luck! The mutt is sitting on the seat like he knew what it was all about. A sharp little rascal. I'll bring him home to you." Jack drove on, one hand on the wheel and the right hand on the dog's head, stroking gently. _Who_, he wondered, _would leave a pet in a contaminated area? Abandoned to something that no dog could possibly understand._ And he thought, briefly, that he and the dog were in the same boat. "You can carry my tool bag," he told the pup over the rumble of the battle buggy. Jenna and Ralph listened to Grant talking to the dog. The man rattled on, speaking lightly, caressingly to the animal, and his words were banal to the tensity in the scanning room.