Millie halted and knelt without an order: Nisana jumped down. Paul saw the shapes of Elis and Sears suddenly bright under Wright's flashlight--the only radion light left. "Easy," Elis said. "I have you." And he lowered the man's bulk to the ground as Susie moaned and shifted her feet. Sears had said nothing, but he was smiling, his face red and vague above the disorder of the black beard. "Paul, hold the light for me." Wright removed the stained bandage. There was a wide area of inflammation; the lips of the arrow wound were purple. "Pakriaa! You said once you never heard of poison on the arrows----" Pakriaa gaped, rubbing her eyes. It was Brodaa who answered: "Our people never had it on the arrows. But in the war with Lantis last year some of our soldiers had wounds like this." "And what happened?" "Ismar--" Pakriaa stumbled forward. "Ismar took----" "My sister," said Brodaa, "be quiet, my sister." "Elis," Paul whispered, "have Tejron and the other women keep watch--we must stay here a while. Where is Mijok?" "Here." Mijok spoke behind him. "I have put my shield--over there." His voice became a whisper for Paul: "There are only three on it now. One little man, two women. They might live. Paul--is it happening, Paul?" "I can't say it. I don't know...." Sears was talking, ramblingly, very far from this patch of earth. One could only listen till he was silent. Then Paul said, "I think so, Mijok. He needs to speak; we need to remember." "What is this--Tel Aviv----" "The place on the other planet where he was born." "And there were the vineyards, oh my, yes--the little white and tan goats----" Sears could see it, Paul thought, that small country, a quiet corner of the Federation, where every grain of sand might remember blood spilled in the follies of hatred, where a teacher of mercy had been crucified. But now for Sears it was not a place of history: he saw gardens defying wasteland, the homes and farms, centers of music and learning where he moved, thoroughly at home, discovering the country of his own science, himself a citizen of no one place except the universe. Later he was recalling the hot white streets of Rio, the genial clutter of London, Baltimore, the majestic contradictions of New York.