She looked at him, and her contempt was as tangible as a slap across the face. "You are a child. Just a baby. You don't dream of the sciences that Rudra will employ. He can sweep your Earth-empire ahead of him as a breeze takes a dry leaf. Look about you. See the cones, the globes, and ask yourself--can your science duplicate them? And then ask, if Rudra, the Werwile, smashed a civilization that could produce all this, what will he do against Earth?" The fear in the blue eyes touched Travis then, under the leather of his belt. His stomach tightened. Nervously, he licked at his dry lips. He thought of Mars Port, of New York Terminal, of the giant spacers that plied the starways throughout the System, of the jewels and food and riches they carried in their holds. He thought of his Iowa home, of his parents. He visualized that culture, those people, all smashed. He whispered, "What can we do?" Nuala shrugged white shoulders. "Nothing. If Rudra smashed the Nekkalad, what can your Earth-people do?" "We can fight!" Travis grated. She was amused. "How?" "We could attack him, before he suspects. He does not know that we know. A little surprise might turn the trick." The pain of his wounds made him dizzy, but it seemed to Travis that Nuala opened her eyes in surprise. She gloomed at him long moments, a white-fingered hand toying with the golden hemp of her girdle. She murmured softly, "Surprise? Yes, a sudden attack might work. If we could get past the barbarians who guard him, there is something we might do." Her face grew blurred in his eyes. He saw her as through a mist. He was falling away from her, dropping. She cried out in alarm, ran toward him. Her soft hands caught him, but could not hold his big body. He hit the floor and lay still. * * * * * There was perfume in his nostrils, and a faint murmur of sound. Travis opened his eyes, lay staring up at the white ceiling of the crystal crypt. He turned his neck, saw Nuala with oddly-shaped jars set before her on a long, flat tabletop. She was murmuring, "If only I were sure of the cell formation, it would be easy. Not like ours, yet different from that of the _arklings_. This ... yes, this might be the right one." She came toward him a blue jar grooved and opaque in her hand. Smiling at him, she unscrewed the top and dipped her fingers inside. She brought out a reddish jelly that she smoothed gently into the bite in his thigh, then into the torn flesh of his arm. There was faint pain, a tingle of nausea. "It will pass," said Nuala. "The red jelly is _celluvalin_. It is--you might call it plastic flesh. It has the cell formation of blood and sinew, and will knit and unite with the torn sections of your body." Travis lay still. The pain was going swiftly. Tentatively he flexed his leg. It moved easily. He grinned, "You could make a fortune with that on Earth or Mars. What the Fleet wouldn't give for plastic flesh. Whew!"