trol room was in darkness. Ron Val was an uneasy shadow talking from dim blackness.
"Then you think that it is really Sarkoff?"
"I don't know."
"But if he remembers things that only Hal could know—"
"He remembers things that he can't know."
"Um. What things?"
"He asked me how much progress had been made in repairing the ship. Jed, he must have died before he knew the ship had been damaged."
"Not necessarily," said Hargraves thoughtfully. "He might have been conscious for one or two minutes after the beam struck us. He would know that the ship had been damaged. What did you tell him?"
"I changed the subject."
"Good for you. If he isn't Sarkoff, the one thing he might want to know is whether the ship has been repaired. What else?"
"Jed, he remembers everything that happened after the ship was attacked. We almost crashed before we got the engines started. He remembers that. He remembers hiding the ship among the trees."
Hargraves stirred. The keen logic of his mind was being blunted by facts that would not fit into any logical pattern. He tried to think. His mind refused the effort. Dead men ought not to remember things that happened after they died. But a dead man had remembered!
For an instant panic walked through the captain’s mind. Then he got it under control. There was always an answer to every question, a solution to every problem. Or was there? He went hunting facts.
"Does he remember being buried?"
Even in the darkness he could feel Ron Val shiver. "No," Ron Val said. "He doesn't remember. Just as soon as we landed, he thinks you sent him out, to scout the surrounding territory for possible enemies."
"Does he know that we had visitors in his absence?"
"No. Or if he does, he didn't mention it, and I didn't ask. He says he was returning when he saw the ship being moved. He says he tried to follow, but lost it in the darkness. He says he had the devil's own time finding it again, and he's still hot about being left behind."
Again Hargraves had to fight the panic in his mind. This much seemed obvious. Sarkoff's memory was accurate—until the ship landed. Then it went into fantasy, into error. If one thing was certain, he had not been sent out to scout for enemies. If there was another fact that was immutable, he had been buried.
"Where is he now?" Hargraves asked abruptly.
"In his bunk, snoring. He ate enough for two men, yawned, said he was sleepy. He was sound asleep almost as soon as he touched the blankets."
Ron Val's voice relapsed into silence. The whole ship was silent.
"Jed, what are we going to do?"
"You bunk with him, don't you?"
"Yes. Jed! You don't mean—"
Hargraves cleared his throat. "This is not an order. You don't have to do it if you don't want to. But Sarkoff must be watched. Are you willing to go back to the room you two shared together and get into the upper deck of your bunk just as if nothing has happened?"
"Yes," said Ron Val.
"Somebody must be with him—all the time. You stay awake. When he gets up, you get up. Whatever he does,
