demanded. "I can tell you all about them. I can tell you what they did to me, too! They don't deserve to live! And this planet won't be safe for spacemen till they're dead. Why waste time studying them? It isn't as if you were a professional anthropologist, sir—didn't you give me medical care?"

"Yes.... But I do anthropology, too. Medical help—ah—gains the confidence of the people...."

"You mean—?" Chet was at first incredulous, then outraged. "You mean you're not going to punish them?"

"That's right," Dr. Pine said, smiling.

"That's wrong!" Chet contradicted.

Cheeks burning, he turned to Commander Seymour. "How about you, sir? Do you want your men chained to a post if they get captured? Do you want me to dismiss three years of torture as a mistake, or something? Do you want—"

"Here, here!" Commander Seymour said. He didn't raise his voice. But as he rose from the cot, Chet rose with him, and found himself at attention. They eyed each other.

"Relax," Dr. Pine suggested. "Please sit down—both of you."

Commander Seymour obeyed his subordinate. But Chet, still standing, still angry, turned hotly on the doctor.

"I can't just sit and let you talk about rewarding the Agvars for torturing me!" he cried. "We don't have to appease them—they can't fight. You don't have to be afraid—"

"That'll do, Barfield!" Commander Seymour was on his feet again, and his tone was sharp. It quieted Chet instantly.

In silence he watched Commander Seymour motion Dr. Pine to follow him out the door. Someone locked it after them.

Alternately tossing on the cot and pacing the floor, Chet seethed for hours. His first interview with the new C.O., and two bawlings-out in five minutes! Because of Pine—Pine, who kept him confined in this room, seeing no one but the attendants, having his meals alone....

When a day passed, and then two, and he felt his strength returning, Chet was sure that Dr. Pine kept him out of the wardroom and away from the other officers only as punishment. Three years a prisoner—and a prisoner still! By the time Commander Seymour came to see him again, Chet had spent hours plotting revenge.

"Barfield," the commander said, "Dr. Pine is going—alone—to the village you escaped from. He'll pretend he's you, or someone like you—whichever he can get away with. So here's your chance for a little fresh air—you can guide us to the village."

"Does that mean I go on active duty, sir?"

"Not quite. Dr. Pine hasn't released you from sickbay."

Pine again! Pine found him good enough to imitate, it seemed, but not good enough to put on duty.

Suddenly Chet saw the possibilities. So Pine was going to impersonate him? Then Pine would be taken for an escaped sacrifice, a prisoner who'd killed a witch-doctor!

Tell him? Huh. Let him find out the hard way! Then even he, yellow as he was, would want revenge on the Agvars. If he survived their welcome....

"I'll be glad to go, sir," Chet said.

They brought him fatigues, not a dress uniform. But fatigues and shoes—even tight ones—were clothing, at least. And clothing would change his appearance. The Agvars had never seen him dressed, nor, since his first days, with a haircut and shave. Whether Pine's impersonation worked or not, Chet saw no danger for himself in approaching the village. But he wondered how it was to be managed.

He was told the plan when Commander Seymour and Dr. Pine met him outside by the ship's tail. The commander, who was armed, and the doctor, already naked except for a pair of slippers and a sunlamp tan, would go with him by the shortest route direct to the village. But only Dr. Pine would enter it.

Commander Seymour explained Chet's part—and his own. "Barfield," he said, "I want you to find and point out some kind of game animal they use for food. I count on killing something after we come under the Agvars' observation. That should show off our