“I had only two years left to run,” gagged Terl.

“I know, I know. But good security chiefs are valuable. It will do your record no harm to show you are in demand.”

Terl made it to the door. Standing in the passageway he felt horribly ill. He had trapped himself, trapped himself right here on this cursed planet!

The glittering vein of gold lay in the mountains. His plans were going well in all other ways. It would take perhaps two years to get those forbidden riches, and the end of this duty tour would have been a personal triumph. Even the man-thing was shaping up. Everything had been running so well.

And now ten years more! Diseased crap, he couldn't stand that!

Leverage. He had to have leverage on Numph. Big leverage.

The explosion had been sharp and loud. Completely unlike the dull roar that every five days regularly shook the cage and compound.

With some skill and agility, Jonnie had found that he could go up the bars, using a cage corner, and, bracing himself there, look far and wide across the plains to the mountains and down on the domed compound of the

Psychlos. Feet braced against the crossbars, he could almost relax in this precarious position.

Winter had come. The mountains for some time now had been white. But today they were invisible under white gray skies.

To the east of the compound there lay a curious huge platform. It was surrounded by widely spaced poles and wires. It had a flooring that was

bright and shiny, some sort of metal. At its southern edge there was a domed structure from which Psychlos came and went. At the northern side of it was a different kind of field, a field where strange, cylindrical craft arrived and departed.

The craft would land with a cloud of dust. Their sides would open and rock and chunks of things would spill out and the vessel would rise again into the air and fly away, dwindling to nothingness beyond the horizon.

The dumped material would be pushed onto a belt that ran between towers, carrying the load over to the huge area of bright and shiny flooring.

Through the days, craft after craft would come, and by the fifth day there would be an enormous pile of material mounded up on the platform.

It was then that the most mysterious thing would occur. At exactly the same time of the day, exactly every fifth day, there would be a humming. The material on the platform would glow briefly. Then there would be a roar like a low thunderclap. And the material would vanish!

It was this one feature, of all the mysteries that surrounded him on his post at the top of the bars, that riveted his attention.

Where did it go? There it would be, a small mountain of material. And then-hum-roar-bang-it would be gone. Nothing ever reappeared on that shiny platform. The material was brought in by those flying objects, taken over by the belt. And there it vanished.

Jonnie had seen it happen often enough now that he could predict the minute, hour, and day. He knew the dome to the south would light up, the wires around the platform would vibrate and hum, and then roar-bang, the piled material would be gone.

But that wasn't what had happened down there today. One of the machines that pushed the material onto the belt had blown up. A swarm of Psychlos were down there around it now. They were doing something with the driver. And a couple more were putting out a fire on the machine itself.

The machines had big blades in front and were covered with a transparent dome where the driver sat. But the dome was off that one now, apparently blown off.

A squat vehicle came up. The driver had been stretched out on the ground. They now put the body in a basket and put it into the squat vehicle, which was driven away.

Another machine with a blade came over and pushed the damaged vehicle off to one side out of the way, and then went back to pushing material onto the belt. The Psychlos went back to their machines and the dome.

An accident of some sort, thought Jonnie. He hung there for a while but nothing else was going on.

Yes, there was. His cage bars were trembling. But this was near to hand and ordinary. It was footsteps of the

Psychlo who kept him caged. Jonnie slid down to the floor.

The monster came to the door and unfastened it and entered. He glared at Jonnie.

The monster was quite unpredictable of late. He seemed calm one time and ruffled and impatient the next.

Right now he was very impatient. He made a savage gesture at Jonnie and then at the language machine.

Jonnie took a deep breath. Every waking hour for months he had been at that machine, working, working, working. But he had never spoken a word to the monster.

He did so now. In Psychlo, Jonnie said, “Broke.”

The monster looked at him curiously. Then it went over to the machine and pushed down the lever. It didn't work. The monster shot a glare at Jonnie as though Jonnie had broken it and then picked the machine up and looked under it. That was quite a feat in Jonnie's eyes, for he himself couldn't budge it an inch on the table.

The machine had just quit that morning, shortly before the explosion. Jonnie moved closer to see what the monster was doing. It removed a small plate in the bottom and a little button dropped out. The monster read some numbers on the button and then laid the machine on its side and left the cage.

He came back shortly with another button, put it in the same place, and put the plate back on. He righted the machine and touched the lever. The disc turned and the machine said, “Forgive me, but addition and subtraction...” And the monster put it in neutral.

The monster pointed a talon at Jonnie and then urgently back at the machine.

Jonnie plunged again. In Psychlo he said, “Know all those. Need new records.”

The monster looked at the thick original sheaf of recordings, hundreds of hours of them. It looked at Jonnie. It s face was grim back of its face mask. Jonnie was not sure he wasn't going to get knocked halfway across the cage. Then the monster seemed to make up its mind.

It yanked the pack of discs out of the back of the machine and left. Shortly it returned with a new, thicker stack of discs and shoved them into the storage compartment of the machine.

It took the old disc off and put the next sequentially numbered one on. Then it pointed at Jonnie and back at the machine. Plainly, Jonnie was supposed to get to work and get to work now.

Jonnie took a deep breath. In Psychlo he said, “Man does not live on raw rat meat and dirty water.”

The monster just stood there staring at him. Then it sat down in the chair and looked at him some more.

Terl knew leverage when he saw it.

As a veteran security officer, he depended on leverage at every turn. And advantage. And blackmail. A method of forcing compliance.

And now it was turned around. This man-thing had sensed that it had leverage.

He sat there studying the man-thing. Did it have any inkling of the plans? No, of course not. Possibly he had been too insistent, day after day, so that this thing sensed he wanted something of it.

Possibly he had been too indulgent. He had gone to the trouble every day or two to go out and shoot rats for it. And earlier, hadn't he gotten it water? And look at all the cunning and difficulty of establishing what it ate.

Here it stood, brave and strong, telling him it didn't eat that. Terl looked at it more closely. Well, not brave and strong. It looked pretty sickly, really. It had a worn robe around it and yet it was almost blue with the coldness of the day. He glanced over at the pond. It was frozen over, dirt and all.

He looked around further. The cage wasn't as dirty as it might have been. The thing evidently buried its jobs.