twinkled back at him, and he knew that each was being scrutinized by some amateur or professional astronomer. Before an hour had elapsed, most of them would be obscured by the tiny moonlets, some of which could already be seen. These could easily be mistaken for stars or the other five planets of the system, but in a short while the tinier ones in groups would cause a celestial haze resembling a miniature Milky Way.

Klaft, who had descended first, leaving the pilot to bring up the rear, noticed Kinton's pause.

"Glory glitters till it is known for a curse," he remarked, quoting a Tepoktan proverb often applied by the disgruntled scientists to the Dome of Eyes.

Kinton observed, however, that his aide also stared upward for a long moment. The Tepoktans loved speculating about the unsolvable. They had even founded clubs to argue whether two satellites had been destroyed or only one.

Half a dozen officials hastened up to escort the party to the vehicle awaiting Kinton. Klaft succeeded in quieting the lesser members of the delegation so that Kinton was able to learn a few facts about the new arrival. The crash had been several hundred miles away, but someone had thought of the hospital in this city which was known to have a doctor rating as an expert in human physiology. The survivor—only one occupant of the wreck, alive or dead, had been discovered—had accordingly been flown here.

With a clanging of bells, the little convoy of ground cars drew up in front of the hospital. A way was made through the chittering crowd around the entrance. Within a few minutes, Kinton found himself looking down at a pallet upon which lay another Terran.

A man! he thought, then curled a lip wrily at the sudden, unexpected pang of disappointment. Well, he hadn't realized until then what he was really hoping for!

The spaceman had been cleaned up and bandaged by the native medicos. Kinton saw that his left thigh was probably broken. Other dressings suggested cracked ribs and lacerations on the head and shoulders. The man was dark-haired but pale of skin, with a jutting chin and a nose that had been flattened in some earlier mishap. The flaring set of his ears somehow emphasized an overall leanness. Even in sleep, his mouth was thin and hard.

"Thrown across the controls after his belt broke loose?" Kinton guessed.

"I bow to your wisdom, George," said the plump Tepoktan doctor who appeared to be in charge.

Kinton could not remember him, but everyone on the planet addressed the Terran by the sound they fondly thought to be his first name.

"This is Doctor Chuxolkhee," murmured Klaft.

Kinton made the accepted gesture of greeting with one hand and said, "You seem to have treated him very expertly."

Chuxolkhee ruffled the scales around his neck with pleasure.

"I have studied Terran physiology," he admitted complacently. "From your records and drawings, of course, George, for I have not yet had the good fortune to visit you."

"We must arrange a visit soon," said Kinton. "Klaft will—"

He broke off at the sound from the patient.

"A Terran!" mumbled the injured man.

He shook his head dazedly, tried to sit up, and subsided with a groan.

Why, he looked scared when he saw me, thought Kinton.

"You're all right now," he said soothingly. "It's all over and you're in good hands. I gather there were no other survivors of the crash?"

The man stared curiously. Kinton realized that his own language sputtered clumsily from his lips after ten years. He tried again.

"My name is George Kinton. I don't blame you if I'm hard to understand. You see, I've been here ten years without ever having another Terran to speak to."

The spaceman considered that for a few breaths, then seemed to relax.

"Al Birken," he introduced himself laconically. "Ten years?"

"A little