His reaction was all out of proportion to the cause. Even with the creature destroyed and washed out of sight, it took all of his will power to steady his nerves and bring his breathing back to normal.

Meta walked by outside and he realized the sterilization process was finished. He opened his own tube and climbed wearily out. Mete and the others had gone by this time and only a hawk-faced stranger remained, waiting for him.

“I’m Brucco, in charge of adaptation clinic. Kerk told me who you were. I’m sorry you’re here. Now come along, I want some blood samples.”

“Now I feel right at home,” Jason said. “The old Pyrran hospitality.” Brucco only grunted and stamped out. Jason followed him down a bare corridor into a sterile lab.

The double gravity was tiring, a constant drag on sore muscles. While Brucco ran tests on the blood sample, Jason rested. He had almost dozed off into a painful sleep when Brucco returned with a tray of bottles and hypodermic needles.

“Amazing,” he announced. “Not an antibody in your serum that would be of any use on this planet I have a batch of antigens here that will make you sick as a beast for at least a day. Take off your shirt.”

“Have you done this often?” Jason asked. “I mean juice up an outlander so he can enjoy the pleasures of your world?”

Brucco jabbed in a needle that felt like it grated on the bone. “Not often at all. Last time was years ago. A half-dozen researchers from some institute, willing to pay well for the chance to study the local life forms. We didn’t say no. Always need more galaxy currency.”

Jason was already beginning to feel lightheaded from the shots. “How many of them lived?” he mumbled vaguely.

“One. We got him off in time. Made them pay in advance, of course.” At first Jason thought the Pyrran was joking. Then he remembered they had very little interest in humor of any kind. If one half of what Meta and Kerk had told him was true, six-to-one odds weren’t bad at all.

There was a bed in the next room and Brucco helped him to it. Jason felt drugged and probably was. He fell into a deep sleep and into the dream.

Fear and hatred. Mixed in equal parts and washed over him red hot If this was a dream, he never wanted to sleep again. If it wasn’t a dream, he wanted to die. He tried to fight up against it, but only sank in more deeply. There was no beginning and no end to the fear and no way to escape.