Part 2

"He has to get their confidence before he can treat them," Commander Seymour explained seriously. "And on a strange planet like this, he's taking quite a chance to try treatment at any time: if it fails, they're apt to accuse him of murder!"

Chet said nothing. But he felt as if he'd drawn a wild card in a poker game.

* * * * *

They'd entered the woods. Even before that, Dr. Pine had lagged because his slippers kept falling off, and now he brought up the rear. Chet, in the lead, took a last long look at the ship before the trees and mosses cut off his view.

He went on slowed by vague reluctance. He didn't like this forest. The trees dwarfed and oppressed him. Old fears began to stir and gnaw, but at new places.

Perhaps the two men he guided would stand together against him. If so, revenge on one would cut him off from both as sharply as the forest cut him off from the ship....

Well, it was worth it! They hadn't put him on duty, hadn't accepted him as one of themselves.... He couldn't be cut off much more than he was already!

And Seymour might listen to reason. After all, he was a practical man, a leader. And Pine was yellow!

"What's Pine after, sir?" Chet asked over his shoulder. "Why take these risks you've mentioned?"

"Well, partly for safety: if we kill any Agvars, we're likely to have to kill them all, or have the survivors to contend with indefinitely. That might cost us some casualties.... And of course there's the research angle, but that's out of my line."

"What's the matter with punishment, sir--discipline? You use discipline on your crew--why not on their enemies?"

"Because the men understand the rules and the penalties. The Agvars don't."

"Kill them, sir! That they'll understand!"

"No!" Commander Seymour spoke sharply. "If they don't fight back, that's cold-blooded slaughter. If they do, it's war. I don't hold with butchery, Barfield, and I certainly won't risk casualties just to give you a cheap feeling of satisfaction!"

He couldn't escape. Commander Seymour, looking from over Chet's shoulder like a walking sneer, stuck close. But he gave the impression of following a man who smelled bad.

_Was he?_ Chet wondered.

Wondering, he unconsciously hung his head, slowed--stopped. Dr. Pine caught up. He and Commander Seymour, faintly breathless from the trying need to regulate their respiration consciously, looked at Chet questioningly.

Again they were sizing him up. Suddenly Chet wished he could go back to that first interview in the sickbay, and change all the things he'd said.

"We can't go on!" he blurted. "You don't know what you're getting into, Doctor!"

"Oh?" said Dr. Pine agreeably. "I know more than you think, young feller." He smiled encouragingly.

"That--that I've killed a witch-doctor? That you may be taken for a murderer?"

"Sure! You--ah--you talked about it under drugs. We ... weren't spying, Chet. We just wanted you to tell your story without reliving all the agony. It wasn't intended as--ah--a trap...." He massaged his fingers apologetically.

"No...." Chet agreed. "But-I-was-trying-to-lead-_you_-into-one!"

* * * * *

Had he said that aloud? Chet couldn't be sure.

He listened for his own voice. The woods were quiet. His breathing seemed strangely loud. He held it--and heard the Agvars moving in the woods. Rustling, scraping, crackling--grunting their guttural dialog. Crashing! Threatening them!

"Let's go back!" he urged, trying to sound casual. But his trail was blocked.

"Stick around," Dr. Pine suggested easily. "You--ah--you haven't said anything we didn't know. We're going right ahead."

"But why?" Once more Chet was hotly incredulous. "To risk your life for a few stray facts? Become a casualty while trying to _avoid_ casualties? It doesn't make sense!"

Dr. Pine stared at his own hands as if to hide his shyness in them. "As to the fact-seeking," he said slowly, "well ... it's a matter of opinion. I've lost a few classmates.... Risks in research are commonplace--and accepted as worthwhile by most people....

"And--ah--peace.... You once called it appeasement, but it isn't, always. Well, look. If we fought those Agvars, somebody'd have to take a patrol into their village and capture prisoners for our Intelligence, right?"

Chet nodded dumbly.

"Well, in a way, I--ah--am the peaceful equivalent of that patrol. The--ah--risk I run is less than if we had a war and a patrol skirmish as part of it, though. And why in the world not take for peace a risk we'd routinely accept in war?"

Why not? But why not minimize it, just the same. The Agvars, invisible but noisy, were all around them, now. At any moment the woods might rain spears.

"It would be safer with two of us," Chet said musingly. "Your knowledge of anthropology and medicine--mine of the people--"

"Barfield, you're still on the sicklist," Commander Seymour pointed out. He watched Chet's face for a long moment before adding, "Still--if you're over your sick-minded need for revenge--it's possible Dr. Pine may find you fit. It's up to him."

Chet was afraid to ask directly. He pleaded with his eyes.

Dr. Pine grinned broadly at the both. "He's ready for duty, sir," he said.

Commander Seymour stepped back and scowled. "All right, Mr. Barfield," he barked, "I'll give you just three minutes to change to the uniform of the day!"

Chet's jaw dropped. His vision, also downcast, noted the fatigues he wore, the muddy shoes. Then he looked up, saw the twinkle in his C.O.'s eyes, and understood.

In exactly three minutes he made the required change. He would enter the village as he'd left it--in the undress uniform of a Man....