The brilliant light-cone of a hand torch pierced the blackness, lancing through Klairon's pounding head like a white-hot probe. He felt himself falling, gently as a leaf, toward the deck. Then Welch was bending over him saying something, but the ringing in his ears wouldn't let him hear.

"Captain," Klairon wasn't sure if his words were clear, but he had to speak, "tell Talbert ... tell him ... Adinamine... be sure ... allergy ..." He forgot what he was saying or why it was important. The Captain's head receded down a long black tunnel, racing ... then nothing.

It was a cool dream, but not cold ... relaxed ... the sweetness of total surrender, a demand satisfied. It was a formless, imageless dream, just a feeling of a job well done, a reward earned. The reward most craved ... most coveted, the freedom from self-denial, a vacation from discipline.

Klairon groped for words to describe this strange freedom. It was ... it was the tingling aftereffect of a "live" transfer!

It was not the soaring joy nor the solid satisfaction that it could be, but rather the absence of compelling necessity. It was utterly refreshing, and it was peace.

With that thought, he remembered who he was, what had happened, and, lastly, where he had been.

The sickening lurch of psycho-spatial disorientation hit him in the stomach. He was no longer where he had been. But something foreign was there, easing him into his new position in the universe.

There was a rhythmic, pulsating sensation coursing through his body. Languidly, he allowed himself to enjoy it, knowing it for the therapy it was. As he made contact with reality, he connected the pulsing with the cool, delicate, expert touch on his tingling laterals. Through that contact, he read an extraordinary devotion, dedication and ... empathy.

He opened his eyes. He was lying on his bunk, covered warmly against the chill that occurs with near-attrition. Talbert was seated on the edge, deftly massaging his laterals with singular, TN-1 possessiveness, creating that special sense of well-being.

He was holding lateral contact by careful pressure on the extensor reflex node to ease him gently over the disorientation and back to consciousness. It was an extremely difficult technique, but Talbert was smooth ... adept. His null-gradient touch was pure heaven.

Klairon smiled weakly and gripped Talbert's thin, untentacled forearms with his dorsals. "Thanks ... but ..." he tried to get up on his elbows and his head burst into a whirling dance of colored pain.

"Oh, no you don't," Talbert pushed him back firmly. "You would again fall flat." He offered a glass of pearly white liquid, "Drink."

"What is it?" Klairon took it, marvelling at his lackof post-transfer emotionalism. Very few could do that for him.

"Fosebine. You have the worst case of transfer shock ever have I seen. With such a burn, that you live is surprising. How were you linked to the banks?"

"Inter-view orgonics tubes," Klairon answered between swallows of the foul potion. He much preferred the traditional glass of hot Trin tea during the post-transfer heightening of the senses. "We're on electricals now?"

Talbert nodded. "Be still now and let the fosebine work ..." His right thumb again rubbed his right forefinger as he curbed his accent. "Not to exert yourself, I will tell what happened.

"Just after you cut contact, a very large meteor pierced F deck. It did not even graze the neutralizer tanks, but smashed right through the heart of the selyn banks and exited through the racks of extra batteries. The disaster control computer sealed the section off, and Iskin and Lieman are now working between the bulkheads to patch the holes, and they're being careful to be clear of any 'live' areas."

The cold, icy green fingers of his premonition clutched at Klairon's heart ... Terwhoolie ... he could almost feel that wind whipped, green gravel stinging his face as he stood on the grid field ...as if he could wish himself back to that crossroads of his life. Dear God ... why hadn't he yielded!

When he felt Talbert's sympathetic grasp on his arm, he knew his lips had betrayed him again. In spite of his channel's training, he always wore his thoughts on his face.

From far away Talbert's voice said, "It's all right. We're orbiting a Beakon."

Klairon remembered that, now, and slowly focused again on Talbert's face, fine and sensitive, even now ... tranquil. He managed a smile. Talbert continued.

"Captain Welch told me you had taken Adinamine, hours ago. He said you'd mentioned allergy. You are allergic?"

"Highly. More so than most Simes. Runs in the family. Every third drug they invent about kills me."

Talbert nodded. It was a familiar problem. TNs were trained to be careful with Farrises. "So, I guessed it was too late to give you Antiadinol to wash out the Adinamine. I prayed that you had stocked Antiadinate as well, or I would not be able to help you in time. Captain Welch told me where you keep your drugs. Miss Wyat supplied me with a small selyn battery from her vanity kit. I used it to break the selyn-lock on your pharmacy. Nobody could have been more relieved than I when I found the Antiadinate, and it worked without sending you into convulsions.

"I suppose you remember the rest."

"No, I don't. The last thing I remember is the Captain bending over me and then there were the post-transfer sensations."

Talbert eyed him levelly for a long moment. "You attacked me in the 'kill mode'. I'd never had that experience before, but I expected it. You couldn't have been more than ten minutes from death by attrition."

Klairon was shocked. He hadn't realized it had been that close. Even in the Proficiency Rating tests, they don't allow that kind of margin. The suicide line was one hour.

"I was certain you would ignore the Inhibitor that still remained and give me my first taste of transfer shock. How could I expect anything else? You were controlled by the survival instinct." He shook his pale head, mystified, "but you didn't."

"You took the first three levels with truly savage greed, but then you drew the selyn stored in the inhibited TN levels never faster than the Inhibitor would release. No Inhibited could ask for a more gentle breakout. If you weren't conscious, I cannot explain how you did it."

Klairon blinked and shook his head. "Neither can I," he frowned. "Must be those remarkable Farris genes. But now help me up. I must survey the damage."

"Contrary. You must sleep. Fosebine relieves the symptoms, but only sleep will heal the scorched nerves. You need the Sime Sleep of Healing."

"You're quite right. After I've surveyed the damage, I'll let you put me to sleep. Now, help me up." This time he surged to his feet in one movement and Talbert could only hop out of the way.

Swaying unsteadily toward the door, Klairon said, "Come on, give me a hand. I'll never make it down there alone."

Talbert complied quickly enough to keep Klairon from falling against the door. "As TN-1 in charge of a damaged QN-1, I outrank you, but as Astrogator of this ship, you outrank me. We shall let the Captain decide."

They made it all the way to the dining commons before Klairon had to rest. Only the Sime's instinctive sure-footedness allowed him to negotiate the lift at all. The fosebine controlled the worst, but there was still enough nausea, general ache and fatigue to make him wish he'd died peacefully. He stumbled to a chair and sat with his head between his knees waiting for the blackout to fade, taking great comfort from Talbert's hand on his shoulder.

Bier couldn't keep from staring at the sight of someone actually touching Klairon, even though he'd seen other QN-TN teams in the intimacy of null-gradient. Somehow, Klairon had always remained the untouched simply because it was considered impolite of a Gen to force casual contact on a Sime who might be distressed by the field gradient the Gen couldn't even sense.