Somewhere, late one foggy night, a tragedy occurred. A man, ordinarily not much different from any you might meet, was driving along a stretch of deserted and twisting highway. One hand loosely held the wheel of his dingy sedan. The other hand held a half-full beer can, and its adjoining arm was draped about a very plain and plainly drunk young woman. She laughed altogether too much and he paid altogether too little attention to the road. In a fatal attempt to express his automotive prowess, the man pressed his old car to its jolting limit.

Topping a wooded hill, the little car roared down toward a narrow bridge at its base. Had the man been less inebriated, he might have recalled the sharp curve which lay just across the one-lane bridge. However, he was drunk and gave geography no thoughts. So, laughing boistrously, the couple plunged down the slippery incline and shot across the aging span, only to realize a moment later their grave mistake.

Beer sloshed and spattered wildly over the screaming girl and dim dashboard, as the man fought to bring his machine under control. Narrowly missing huge trees on the far roadside, the auto swept from side to side, skidding madly. At the very end of the curve its headlights flashed over two white objects beside the road. A split second later, two thumps were heard, followed by the rending screech of twisting metal, as the car slid trunk-first into a stolid oak. The gas tank burst and the hood flew open. Glass sprayed about. Then, all was silent except for the gentle gurgle of the leaking fuel tank.

A score of miles away, a fortyish woman with mousy brown hair sat nodding over a volume of Browning's poetry. It was 1:30 A.M. and all was as quiet as could be expected throughout tiny Tarver County General Hospital. Mrs. Joanna Jeffreys, R.N., yawned and glanced at the unemotional clock on the tiled wall of TCG's tidy emergency room. Yawning again, she placed Browning on the grey vinyl desk top. It was much later than she had thought. She got up, turned on the intercom beside the entrance doors, switched off all but one light and took the elevator upstairs to the night duty nurses' quarters. "Perhaps tonight will be a quiet one," she thought, as she lay down. "Perhaps I'll get to sleep some."

It was not to be for long.

At 2:05 A.M. Joanna was startled into alert wakefulness by the urgent buzzing of the call box set neatly into the wall beside her bed. With a swift calmness born of many nights' duty, she pushed the answer button and said, "May I help you?"

"Oh God yes!" came the shrill reply. "Come quick! There's been an accident! Terrible! Three of 'em! People, I mean! Oh, please come quick! I think one of 'em's dying!"

"I'm on my way down!" Mrs. Jeffreys barked. "Stay where you are!" She jumped from the bed and flew across the room, shouting. "Becky! Where are you? Emergency! Get Mrs. Travis, too!" She jabbed the elevator button, as a young L.P.N. rounded a corner in the hallway, followed closely by an older woman whose black-rimmed cap designated her an R.N. As the elevator whispered downward, Becky Miller rubbed her sleepy eyes and inquired, "What's up?"

"Some sort of accident... wreck, I suppose." Joanna drummed nervous fingers on the cold metal door of the elevator. That special tenseness which accompanied every unknown crisis was upon her. As soon as she knew exactly what awaited them below, the feeling would pass. Her professional ability would override her fear, and she would act quickly and correctly, almost without conscious thought. "I may not need you two at all," she continued, "but there are three of them at least. God knows what kind of shape they're in."

"Probably some more of those tom-fool reckless teenagers," Mrs. Travis grumbled. "Go out and get themselves drunk and then smash into something. It's a wonder any of them survive!" She shook her greying head.

Their conversation ceased as the shiny doors parted and they burst out into the corridor leading to the emergency room. A short balding man in an overcoat damp with mist and fog stopped his nervous pacing in mid-stride when the three nurses appeared. "Thank God you're here! They're out in my car. Didn't think I could bring 'em all in!" He rushed to the door. "Barely got 'em here! Oh, it's terrible, terrible!" They ran out onto the low porch. Below was the man's automobile, motor still running. Three inert forms were dimly visible through steamed-up windows. Taking in the situation at a glance, Mrs. Travis said, "I'll call an attendant. And the intern." She disappeared back into the building. The others ran down the wheelchair ramp and over to the idling car.

Throwing open the front door, Mrs. Jeffreys was assaulted by the odor of sour beer and damp clothing. "Drunk!" she muttered. "Drunk fools!" In the yellow dome light she could see that none of the victims was conscious. The one on the front seat was slumped far down and was barely breathing. She withdrew her head from the car. "This one doesn't look too good. Mister, can you carry him inside?"

The befuddled little man in the overcoat worked his mouth silently. "Hurry, for God's sake, he could die any minute!" Joanna snapped at him. The man shut his mouth and stepped forward grimly.

Joanna then turned to Becky. "Help me with the girl in the back. The other one's too big." They flung open the rear door and carefully pulled the limp, skinny body from the seat, while thick, steamy clouds of exhaust from the chugging automobile rolled past their legs. Between them they managed to half-drag, half-carry the inert girl inside. Just as they reached the door, they met Bill, an attendant, who was clad only in pants and undershirt. "Don't mind us," Joanna gasped, "get the one still in the car!" Without a word Bill leaped from the porch and ran to the Chevy, where he swept up the third victim in a single mighty motion and brought him into the building. The door slammed shut on the dank, chilly night.

The emergency room was now a blaze of light and the scene of concerted, furious but efficient activity. The unknown little man had placed his victim on the nearest stretcher and now stood aside blankly, uncertain of what to do or where to go. Becky and Joanna wrestled the girl onto an examination table, clutching at her flopping arms and legs. At that moment, Mrs. Travis returned, followed by a boyish intern dressed in wrinkled whites. He immediately went to the unconscious woman, and Mrs. Travis crossed over to the other victim.

"How did it happen?" she asked the bystander, while she searched for a pulse beat in a pale wrist.

"I don't know. I was driving along out on Old 24, when I saw this one lying there in the road. There was a smashed-up car a little farther on. It'd hit a tree." Mrs. Travis winced. "The other two were in it. Didn't think I could get 'em out. Thought this one was dead, he's so still-like. I got 'em here as fast as I could. Terrible!" He shook his head and shivered.

Just then, Bill walked in and placed the third body on another stretcher. He took the slip-case from the pillow and placed it over the man's face. Turning to Mrs. Travis, he spoke in a subdued voice. "No use worryin' over this'un, ma'am. He's deader 'n heck. His neck's done snapped clean in two." The nurse raised a hand to her mouth. Then, setting her jaw firmly, she turned back to her first patient. "It can't be helped," she whispered.

"No, ma'am," said Bill. "Ain't nothin' you can do now." He shook his head sadly and started to walk away. Seeing the gaping little man still standing by, he took his arm and led him toward the door. "Come on, mister. You done all you could for 'em. Now let's you 'n me see if there ain't no coffee 'round here somewhere." They departed quietly. The clock read 2:11 A.M.

The activity in the emergency room continued. The intern, whose name was McGill, worked swiftly over the young woman. She appeared not to be in serious condition. Her heartbeat was steady, although weak; her blood pressure was somewhat low, and there was the possibility of a cervical fracture and broken ribs, probably slight internal bleeding and shock. All in all, not excessive for an automobile accident. However, X-rays would be needed and McGill told Joanna to call someone up and get them. He also decided to have the doctor on call summoned. He then directed Joanna and Becky to proceed with such treatment as his preliminary diagnosis required. Then he turned his attention to the remaining victim.

"How's it look, Travis?" He began probing.

"Not too good," the seasoned nurse replied. "His blood pressure is way down and the heartbeat is faint." The intern glanced at some scribbled figures, whistled softly and rapidly applied his stethoscope to several points. "His present condition," Mrs. Travis went on, "would seem to indicate an extreme loss of blood, but for the life of me, I can't find a blood stain anywhere. His clothes aren't even torn, as far as I can see." She touched the man's garment. It was entirely white except for thin blue stripes around its collar, wrists and ankles. The material was smooth and shiny like satin. His shoes were also white and appeared to be constructed of a plastic substance. The pant legs merged seamlessly with the shoes somewhere in the neighborhood of the man's ankles. The whole outfit fit snugly and firmly.

"This is a funny looking suit to have on," McGill commented. "Was he in the car with the girl?"

"The man who brought them in said he found this one lying in the road a little distance from the car. Could be he was thrown clear when they crashed."

"Could be. Or maybe he was hit and the car crashed afterwards trying to avoid him. Anyway, I need to examine him more closely. Whatever this stuff is he's wearing, it'll have to come off. Get me some scissors!" Mrs. Travis reached behind her and picked up two pair. "Damn! This is tough stuff!" the intern said, as she turned back. He was trying to tear open the sleeve of the suit. He grabbed a pair of scissors and tried to cut the unruly fabric straight up the sleeve. The material parted jaggedly, resisting strongly. After cutting a two-inch slit, McGill gave up and said, "This will never get it! Have you got anything sharper down here?"

"There're some scalpels in the drawer there, and I may can find a razor blade in the first-aid box."

"Get the scalpels; we haven't got a lot of time. His breathing is getting worse!" The nurse hurried to obey and returned with several viciously sharp surgical instruments. Becky followed her over, watching curiously. McGill once more began to try to cut through the spartan fabric. At the insistence of the surgical steel the cloth split slowly.

Becky's eyes opened wide in amazement. "My gosh," she exclaimed. "What is that stuff? Any ordinary cloth would rip to pieces with those scalpels!"

"I don't know what it is," replied the intern, puffing, "but it sure is tough. Maybe this is some sort of bullet-proof vest!"

"What I want to know," spoke up Mrs. Travis, "is how he got into it. I don't see a seam or zipper or buttons anywhere. I guess they might be on the back, but there certainly isn't any sign of an opening on the front." She finished splitting her sleeve up to the neck and began to go down the side.

"This looks like trouble," said McGill, when he had torn the white cloth almost down to the man's waist. "I'm beginning to get blood stains—and they're still fresh, too. Good grief! This stuff is sopping wet with blood on the inside! But there's not a sign of hemorrhage on the outside! Get some gauze and cloth. I believe a major vessel's been punctured!"

They worked on quickly and silently. At last, McGill found what he was looking for. "Ah, here it is; a puncture wound of the left iliac vein. Apply pressure. We've got to try and save what little blood he has left. That suit he's in probably saved his life. I don't know how it insulates, but if it hadn't kept his blood from leaking out, he would've been dead long ago."

They continued their examination of the stranger with the help of Dr. Edgar Marlowe, who was the physician on call that night and whom Joanna had routed out of bed. The man's left leg was broken, they discovered, and there were a number of other suspected fractures. Internal damage included a ruptured spleen and a partial collapse of the lower rib cage. Dr. Marlowe concluded that surgery was immediately necessary.

In the meantime, Bill Ross, an X-ray technician, had arrived. To him fell the task of making those films urgently needed for the surgical team that was being called from warm beds throughout town. In addition to X-rays of the stranger's left leg, Bill took chest films, an abdomen film, and films of the pelvis and skull, added as an afterthought by the thorough Dr. Marlowe. The mysterious man was then whisked away to surgery. However, before boarding the elevator, a small sample of what precious little blood still coursed through his depleted veins was taken by a sleepy young technician.

Bill then X-rayed the young girl, who had by that time been revived. Her injuries were not critical, and she was admitted for observation and further treatment by her own physician. Ascertaining that his services were no longer required, Bill switched off his equipment and returned gladly to his home. The silent clock in the X-ray department read 2:55 A.M.

Intern McGill leaned against the desk in the emergency room. He had just finished washing up. Taking a swig of coffee from a paper cup, he grimaced. "Foul stuff," he said to Becky, who was finishing the last of her reports. "You know, something bugs me about that fellow they took to surgery. I can't put my finger on it, but there was something strange about him. Maybe it's just that funny suit he was in."

"Um hm," agreed Becky, stretching tiredly. "He was a little odd. And he didn't have any kind of identification either." She sighed. "Anyway, he's someone else's problem now."

"Yeah," agreed McGill, and they left.

The big clock in surgery read 3:01 A.M. All the lights were on, as if those present were afraid of the night. More likely, however, it was to help them remain alert. The mysterious man lay almost blissfully upon the operating table. His ashen features, however, revealed the seriousness of his condition. Around him walked silent figures in masks, wearing robes of either dull white or wrinkled green. An anesthetist sat at the patient's head. He continually glanced at the nearby cardiac and respiratory monitors, while keeping a close watch over the various pressure gauges atop green and blue gas cylinders. An I.V. bottle slowly dripped its contents into the patient's left arm. All was ready.

The surgeon, Dr. Raymond M. Cossitt, took a final look at the man's X-rays. "Definitely a ruptured spleen," he spoke through his mask, "but it certainly is higher in this man than normal." He looked at another shot, as a curious nurse peered over his shoulder. "Huh! And look at this! You don't see too many like this. His heart is on the right side instead of the left. A couple of cracked ribs, though. No sweat! What say we get to work?"

And work they did. An incision was made, and a short while later the offending organ lay immersed in preservative awaiting transport to the laboratory. A drainage tube was inserted into that portion of the man's lung which had suffered injury. Finally, the break in his leg was reduced and a cast applied. Dr. Cossitt decided that traction would not be necessary. He completed his suturing and the man was wheeled into the recovery room.

As Dr. Cossitt washed up, he was visibly puzzled. He had, during his career, performed numerous splenectomies, yet there had never been one which quite resembled this one. In addition to being positioned too high, this man's spleen had also been oriented differently. Still more puzzling were the two small glands, which he had discovered adjacent to the spleen itself. They had appeared intact and uninjured, so he had left them in place. But to his vast knowledge this was the first time any such extraneous glands had ever been discovered in this particular region of the body. He shook his head and went out through the curtained swinging doors of the surgery. He knew he would be unable to sleep when he reached his home. His watch read 5:15 A.M.

However, Dr. Cossitt was not the only one having problems concerning the enigmatic patient. Susan Weaver, R.N., who was in charge of the recovery room, was on the telephone and she was annoyed. "Sam, I've got to have some blood up here for this man. He's got so little now, I don't see what's keeping him alive! Can't you do something?"

"I realize you need blood," shot back Sam, the lab technician. "But what can I send you, when I can't even type the sample I took? I've tried everything but witchcraft on it, and I can't get a positive identification. He must be one of those really weird ones. Only thing I know for sure is that he's Rh positive—and he might have an E factor, too. I can't tell for sure."

Susan massaged her weary temples. "How about sending me some type O, then? I know they don't do that much anymore, but it could mean the difference between whether he lives or not!"

"Now that I can do. It still puzzles me, though. This joker is pretty peculiar as far as his blood is concerned. I'll be up in a few minutes with that type O." Sam hung up and walked over to the refrigerator, mumbling several less-than-savory phrases. Little did he know that his bafflement had only just begun!

At the suggestion of surgeon Cossitt the mystery man was taken to a room in the intensive care unit. His condition was not that particularly serious, although he had lost a considerable amount of blood, for a splenectomy was not that dangerous a procedure. However, Dr. Cossitt reasoned that in the I.C.U. the man could be carefully observed in greater detail than the usual post-operative manner. Something nagged Cossitt about the stranger, whose very name remained a mystery. It was not entirely the discovery of the extra glands, nor was it the unusual position of the now excised and preserved spleen. He couldn't quite place it, but it seemed that he ought to know. It was right there in front of his scalpel, so to speak, but the exact nature of the puzzle eluded him.

A telephone call early the following afternoon from Richard Lang, MD, resulted in the crystallization of Cossitt's problem. Dr. Lang was one of T.C.G.'s two radiologists—and a good friend, as well. He requested that Cossitt come to see him in the reading room of the X-ray department. A short time later, the two men stood together before a view-box upon which were displayed the X-rays made of the unconscious stranger when he had been admitted.

Dr. Lang spoke in a low but excited voice. "Ray, I've never encountered a patient like this one! Look at those ribs and tell me what you see."

Cossitt studied the film silently for a few moments and then snorted. "Ribs, I guess. Two are cracked, one here, the other here," he pointed. "Both are on the left side and the bones are displaced slightly. Other than that, I can't tell you much. What's your story?"

Lang smiled and picked up a pencil to use as a pointer. "I fully agree with your observations of the obvious, but allow me to carry the examination a few steps further. In the normal anatomy, you may recall, there are seven true ribs, each of which adjoins the sternum and is connected by means of costal cartilages. But in this man there appear to be only six true ribs!" Cossitt's eyes opened a fraction wider. "And because of this, it appears that the so-called floating ribs are not present in this patient."

"Is there any chance that he could have had some ribs removed surgically, previous to this X-ray?"

"None. There is no evidence of there ever having been more ribs than you see here. And look at this!" He pointed to the view of the skull. "There is no lacrimal bone. Also, the temporal bones appear to be fused and continuous with the wings of the sphenoid. And finally," Lang went on, shifting to the film of the pelvis, "there are certain minute differences in the structure of the pelvis which are unusual. This is a strange fellow, Ray. You say he was brought in after an accident?"

"That's right," nodded Cossitt, as he absently shifted his gaze from one film to another. "There was no identification on him, either. I operated for a ruptured spleen and set his leg. Put in a drainage tube, too. He's up in the I.C.U. now. Last I heard, he still wasn't fully conscious."

"Well, when he does wake up, it'll be interesting to see what sort of story he can tell." Dr. Lang picked up a paper clip and bent it out of shape. "Ray, I'd like to suggest we do a skeletal survey on him, when he's able. We might turn up some more interesting things!"

"You suspicious old saw-bones!" grinned Cossitt. "That curiosity will get you yet! But we'll see, we'll see." Deep inside, Ray Cossitt's own curiosity began slowly but surely to ignite.

The office was furnished plushly. A large walnut desk with matching leather chair dominated the scene. Two walls were covered by bookshelves which contained volume after volume of medical and pharmaceutical texts and references with a generous helping of magazines and professional journals scattered throughout. The remainder of the room was paneled and across the floor was spread a soft, contrasting rug. Two smaller chairs faced the littered desk behind which sat Dr. Ray M. Cossitt.

He stroked his chin absently. It had been a week now, since the accident involving the mysterious stranger had occurred. In that short span of time the enigmas surrounding him had multiplied rapidly. He was a medical curiosity! Missing or altered bones, extra organs of unknown function, unfamiliar blood type and composition, unusual but seemingly normal percentages of certain body secretions—and some secretions never found before in a human—all compounded to harass and confuse not only Dr. Cossitt, but most of T.C.G.'s staff as well.

And to top it all off, the man could not speak English! A foreigner! One apparently so foreign that, try as they would, they could discover neither where he was from nor what language he spoke. Placing a map of the world before him evoked only a feeble smile and a shrug. Once, the duty nurse had discovered a magazine upon which the patient—who had been christened Mr. Mann for lack of a real name—had scribbled a couple of lines. The script resembled Greek or one of the Cyrillic alphabets. Upon investigation, however, the script remained undecipherable. Mr. Mann, therefore, remained a co-operative, if aloof, patient. And Dr. Cossitt remained his diligent, puzzled physician.

As he went over the facts yet another time, Dr. Cossitt's telephone rang. It was his nurse-secretary. "Dr. Cossitt, I have a man here who wants to talk to you about one of your patients. He says he's a friend of the man you have in the I.C.U."

"Send him in!" flashed back Cossitt's reply, and he jumped up excitedly from his chair, knocking several loose papers to the floor. At last maybe he could get an answer or two about who Mr. Mann really was! Who was this fellow, he wondered, that claimed to be a friend of his weird patient? What would he be like? He watched his office door nervously and saw the door knob turn.

The man who entered did not appear extraordinary in any way. He was of medium build and had sandy hair and blue eyes—just like Mr. Mann, Cossitt noted absently. He was wearing a one-piece suit of white outlined in blue, similar to the coveralls an auto mechanic might possess. He introduced himself as Sarvell and seemed momentarily puzzled when Cossitt extended his hand for the newcomer to shake.

Grasping Cossitt's hand lightly, Sarvell spoke. "Forgive me! In my country it, this custom of the hands, is rare. Our greeting is speech alone." He spoke with an accent which sounded slightly oriental. Cossitt, however, could recall no oriental caucasian race, except the Ainu of Japan, and this man's name seemed not to indicate Ainu origins. Also, the handclasp was practically universal throughout the civilized world. Odd.

"I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Sarvell," said Dr. Cossitt. "Please be seated. Your friend has caused us a great deal of thought. You see, he carried no identification when he was brought to us. And he cannot speak English, as you."

"Yes," Sarvell said with a smile. "I know he was a little strange, perhaps, to you. We seldom travel here and were prepared not for the accident. Very unfortunate. Most distressing."

"I know it must've been. I'm sorry. But tell me, where exactly do you come from? We've been very curious about that."

"Oh, it is a small place of little importance and far from here," evaded the man, looking down at an object in his hands. Was it oriental submission that colored his voice? Or was he lying? Changing the subject, he asked, "I have come to take my friend, Sagor, home. Perhaps he may go now?"

In reality, thought Cossitt, the man called Sagor could go, as long as his broken leg was kept immobile. The splenectomy had healed well and the drainage tube had been removed. Yet Cossitt wanted to find out more about this man before releasing him. There were still too many unexplained things about him. So he said, "I can say that Mr. Sagor is progressing nicely, but he has had an operation and has a broken leg. Perhaps we had better keep him here for a few more days."

At the word operation Sarvell had looked up quickly and then dropped his eyes once more. Now he said, "I hope truly that you found nothing serious wrong." He twirled the object he was holding between his fingers. "Sagor is a good friend. I do not wish him in danger to be. But if it be possible, I feel he should go home." Sarvell continued to watch the spinning object. "Is it good?"

Dr. Cossitt could feel something odd about this man and his request. Where was his home? He had never actually said. So he answered, "As his doctor, I feel that Sagor should stay a few more days. Nothing is seriously wrong, but certain tests which have been performed have shown rather unusual results. We would like to continue our observations until we are quite sure he is well." The man before him said nothing. "You never said the name of your country, Mr. Sarvell. I'd be interested to know what it is."

Speaking quickly, Sarvell looked up. "It is nothing! That is, I mean its size is small. I doubt you have... " The object he had been spinning slipped from his hands and rolled beneath Dr. Cossitt's desk. "Excuse me...!" he began.

"No need," said Cossitt, bending down to retrieve the fallen piece. When he had it in his hand, he said admiringly, "Say, what is this? I've never seen anything like it."

"It is money of my country, a coin you would say. Please, may I have it?" He reached for the small metallic disk, but Cossitt did not yet wish to relinquish it. The coin was slightly larger than a quarter and more ovoid than round. Portrayed on one side was the head of a woman with long flowing hair and upon the other appeared an animal which resembled a prancing horse. Written in the same script his patient had used were a number of short words. What intrigued Cossitt most, however, was the fact that the coin was struck of more than one type of metal. The figures and words were of a silvery substance, while the bulk of the coin appeared to be copper. Upon close examination he discovered, to his astonishment, that the woman's eye was a tiny sparkling stone. He faced Sarvell.

"Mr. Sarvell, this is a most remarkable piece of workmanship. I am a collector of coins in my spare time, and I have never seen one such as this, although I possess at least one coin from most of the nations of the world. And I've never heard of a country, no matter how small, which produces oval coinage. Mr. Sarvell, from this and your evasive remarks, I believe you can tell me a lot more about yourself and Mr. Sagor than you have. Do you agree?"

Throughout Dr. Cossitt's speech Sarvell had become more and more flustered, and when he was delivered the ultimatum, he simply stood before the desk, glancing nervously toward the door as if appraising his chances of escape. Finally, his shoulders slumped and he fell backward into the chair. "You are right, Dr. Cossitt," he began in a low voice. "I have not told you all. It is because you would not believe me that I have lied—or perhaps because you might believe me only too well! Before I was sent here, physicians of my country warned me that it was possible you had discovered the differences which are between your people and mine. Apparently, you have discovered them, or at least suspect them. Therefore, you do not trust what I say. It was hoped that I could get Sagor and depart without arousing your suspicions, but The Power has decreed it should not be." Sarvell paused and for the first time fixed his eyes upon Dr. Cossitt's. "Dr. Cossitt, you are a man of much intelligence among your people. I ask you that, should you believe what I am next going to tell you, you think hard about it before doing something which might cause difficulty. You are a man who knows the ways of people in some measure. Think of your people!"

Cossitt gave a slight nod, his heart pounding. What dark secret was he about to be told? Little did he know how fantastic it really was!

Sarvell got up from his chair and began to pace the floor as he spoke. "Plain facts now I shall tell, for I see that is what you wish. My country is not of your world. It is on another world far out in space. For several hundred of your years scientists of my world have been exploring this group of stars, searching for and learning about the life which is found among them. Although I am not thoroughly known of your language, Sagor is what I think you would call a cultural anthropologist. I am a cultural psychologist. There were others of our race which, because of our seeming physical alikeness, were living here among your people and studying them. When Sagor was hurt and his being in this place was known, all of my people left your world and returned to the space vehicle which had brought us here. We were afraid you might discover the differences between us and somehow, through Sagor, learn of us. As a whole, your race is not ready for such an encounter." Sarvell paused.

"Do you mean to tell me that this man Sagor is an alien being? From another world?" Cossitt stared and then went on softly, "But it would explain everything! His bone structure, his blood, why he speaks no known language... Yet, I find it hard to believe! The thought of aliens walking here among us! It can't be! But if you're telling me the truth... ?"

"I am," Sarvell affirmed. "It is indeed a difficult thing to grasp, I imagine, for your race has for countless time suspected itself to be the only living intelligence in the all of space. But we can see in your developments the fact that in a short time you will develop a vehicle capable of travel throughout space. When this has been done, you will discover, as we did, that you are not alone." Sarvell smiled sympathetically.

"We had planned," he continued, "to gather such information as we felt important concerning your race and then depart as unknown to you as we came, in order to await your further development both technically and culturally. Your entire race would then have been welcomed as fellow living beings created by the One Great Power, and you would have been invited to join the Council, of which we are but a single member. Since Sagor's unfortunate experience, however, our plans have been disrupted."

"I can see what you mean," agreed Cossitt. "If it were to become known that we were being watched, so to speak—even by a friendly race of aliens—the repercussions could be enormous. There would be a great struggle to gain knowledge of your science, which would then be applied to controlling the nations of the earth. No, you're quite right. We're not ready for you!"

"Yes, you must develop naturally. Such revealings of our presence were attempted early in our explorations, and disastrous wars and struggles resulted. It is now a law of the Council that our presence may not be willingly revealed to any race of a lower technological or culturally psychological level than our own. And caution is exercised with all races we encounter. It was only by this freak accident that our being here was revealed."

"How did you find Sagor anyway?" asked Dr. Cossitt. "As far as we could ascertain, he and two other persons were the only ones present at the scene of the accident."

"Sagor was with another man, a certain Trelnor. They were walking along the road to a meeting place of our people, when they were struck by the automobile. Trelnor was knocked a short distance from the road but was not seriously injured. Some of our people searched for and later found him and learned what had happened. We deduced the rest and then confirmed it."

"At first, they wanted to come and get Sagor by force, but it was decided that would be of more harm than his being here. Finally, I was sent to try to trick you into letting him go. That plan, too, proved inadequate." For a moment, Sarvell looked dejected. "That is the truth you wanted. I now hope the right thing has been done. All we ask is that Sagor be allowed to return to us, and we shall depart from this world. Perhaps sometime in the future our races can then meet and develop as they should." Sarvell looked at Dr. Cossitt, eminent surgeon, possessor of the world's greatest secret—and human being.

Cossitt leaned back in his chair. It was a long time before he spoke. "Mr. Sarvell, you've told me what many people would consider a fantastic tale. I'm not sure yet that I believe it myself! Yet, as a medical man, I've observed things about this man Sagor which might possibly confirm what you say. And this coin. It, too, is evidence in your favor. I fancy myself a man of broad mind, but everything I know tells me not to believe you. But no man would walk in here and tell me what you have simply to allow one of his friends to get out of the hospital a few days sooner. Then it must be true! A race of spacemen! Observing earth! It's amazing!"

"Yes," said Sarvell, smiling for the first time. "I suppose, to you, it is amazing. To us, it is our job, the task that The Power has put before us. The Power allowed this event to occur for reasons It only knows. Its will has been fulfilled. And it shall be fulfilled unto the end of time." Sarvell made a sign.

"Well, as much as I'd like to talk to you about the worlds beyond earth, I imagine you would like to find a way to get Sagor out of here."

"It would be most rewarding!"

"I thought so," said Cossitt. "So now, let me suggest... "

So it was that early the following morning, almost exactly a week and a day since the mysterious man called Sagor had been brought into Tarver County General Hospital, Dr. Cossitt stood out on the low porch from the emergency room door and awaited another car in the early morning chill. It soon appeared, a station wagon. Pulling around, it backed up to the porch. A man in a white trench coat got out, spoke several words to the driver and then waved to Cossitt.

It was Sarvell. The alien opened the rear door of the car and slid out a chair-like apparatus with a set of controls on its back. He adjusted several, pushed the chair up the ramp and went inside with Dr. Cossitt.

Before going upstairs, Cossitt made a brief call to the lone nurse on duty in the I.C.U. She reported that all was quiet and as expected. Sarvell and Cossitt then boarded the elevator and ascended.

Wendy Peters, R.N., the nurse Dr. Cossitt had called, met the two men at the door to Sagor's room. "Hi, Wendy," said Cossitt, "This is Mr. Sarvell, whom I told you about. He's come for our patient." Sarvell nodded politely and Wendy smiled in return. They entered the room and found Sagor awake, waiting for them. In a few words of the alien's sing-song language, Sarvell told Sagor what they were about to do. Dr. Cossitt had allowed them to speak to one another briefly the previous afternoon over the telephone, but they had had hardly enough time to discuss the plan.

After a short conversation, Sarvell said, "We are ready." He moved his device, which was a sophisticated "wheelchair", nearer the bed. With the help of Wendy and Dr. Cossitt, Sarvell assisted Sagor, as he moved from the bed to the chair. A panel was lifted up and extended to support Sagor's broken leg. Wendy placed a blanket snugly around him. Then Sarvell adjusted the dials on the chair's back, and it rose quietly to a height of three inches from the floor. With no apparent effort Sarvell maneuvered the floating chair about and pushed it into the hall.

Wendy whispered to Dr. Cossitt as they walked along. "Doctor, you told me not to be surprised by anything this Sarvell might do, but to tell you the truth, I'm plain flabbergasted at that chair! What's holding it up?"

"Miss Peters, I'm rather surprised myself. I don't know how it works. It just does! I'll tell you more when we get Sagor off."

As Wendy pushed the elevator button and stepped inside to hold the door, Sarvell, who had obviously heard her remarks, said to Cossitt, "You may tell her, Doctor. I doubt that she will even believe it, and if she does tell anyone else, I am certain they will not. We shall be gone then, and there will remain no proof."

They descended and got off on the ground floor. The hall was quiet and empty. No one else in the entire building was aware that the most puzzling and unusual patient who had ever been treated there was about to depart. And he was about to depart this earth as well! Dr. Cossitt went ahead to the door to see if all was still as it should be. It was. He beckoned to the others.

The three of them were joined by the driver of the automobile in assisting Sagor into the rear seat. Dr. Cossitt did not quite know why he did it, but as the door was about to be shut, he reached inside and squeezed Sagor's arm. The alien looked at him in the dim light and, grasping Cossitt's arm firmly, smiled. Two men of widely separated worlds had expressed their friendship. Perhaps, many years later, two others of their respective races would again meet and reaffirm that same friendship. The car door shut, Sarvell raised his hand in a gesture of farewell, and the car departed. Dr. Cossitt's mind reeled at the thought of their ultimate destination.

For a long while Ray Cossitt, M.D., and Wendy Peters, R.N., stood on the low porch overlooking the silent and almost empty parking lot. A verse of poetry came into Cossitt's mind, and he said it aloud:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep...

"That's Frost isn't it?" asked Wendy.

"Yes."

She was silent for a moment and then said, "That man; I'll bet he does have miles to go before he sleeps!" She looked at him with a faint light of knowledge in her eyes.

"More miles than you could ever imagine, Wendy. So many that I couldn't believe it myself, when he told me. Maybe you won't either." He looked up at the endless void of space and then, fingering the small oval coin Sarvell had given him as a souvenir, he led the girl inside.