CLOSE TO CRITICAL

birth," snapped the Dromiman. "My son is four years old, about the social equivalent of a human being of seven. I was under the impression that human beings were a fairly admirable race, but to give responsibility to an individual as stupid as you appear to be suggests a set of social standards so low as to be indistinguishable from savagery. If anything happens to my boy—" He stopped; Flanagan's face had disappeared from the screen, and he must have missed the last couple of sentences of Amina-dabarlee's castigation; but the Drommian was not through. He turned to Raeker, whose face had gone even paler than usual, and resumed. "It makes me sick to think that at times I have left my son in charge of human caretakers during my years on Earth. I had assumed your race to be civilized. If this piece of stupidity achieves its most likely result, Earth will pay the full price; not a human-driven ship will land again on any planet of the galaxy that values Drommian feelings. The story of your idiocy will cross the light-years, and no human ship will live to enter Drommian skies. Mankind will have the richly earned contempt of every civilized race in—"

He was cut off, but not by words. A rending crash sounded from the speaker, and a number of loose objects visible on the screen jerked abruptly toward a near wall. They struck it loudly and rebounded, but without obeying the laws of reflection. They all bounced the same way— in the direction which Raeker recognized with a sinking feeling as that of the tender's air lock. A book flew past the pickup area in the same direction, and struck a metal instrument traveling more slowly.

But this collision went unheard. No more sound came from the speaker; the tender was silent, with the silence of airlessness.

111. CEREBRATION; TRANSPORTATION; EMIGRATION

NICK Chopper stood in the doorway of his hut and thought furiously. Behind him the seven other survivors of the raid lay hi various stages of disrepair. Nick himself was not entirely unscathed, but he was still able to walk— and, if necessary, fight, he told himself grimly. All of the others except Jim and Nancy would be out of useful action for several days at least.

He supposed that Fagin had been right hi yielding to Swift as he had; at least, the savage had kept his word about letting Nick collect and care for his wounded friends. Every time Nick thought of the attack, however, or even of Swift, he felt like resuming the war. It would have given him intense pleasure to remove Swift's scales one by one and use them to shingle a hut in full view of their owner.

He was not merely brooding, however; he was really thinking. For the first time hi a good many years, he was questioning seriously a decision of Fagin's. It seemed ridiculous that the Teacher could get away from the cave village without help; he hadn't been able to fight Swift's people during the attack, and if he had any powers Nick didn't know about that was certainly the time to use them. Getting away at night didn't count; he'd be tracked and caught first thing in the morning.

But wait a minute. What could the cave-dwellers actually do to Fagin? The hard white stuff the Teacher was

43