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The Captain is right. We've got to get off this world. No one can survive here, nothing

human, we're too vulnerable
…

He was gripped with desperate anxiety for Camilla. In this mad night of rape, murder, panic terrorout of control, savage battle and destruction, where had she gone? His earlier search for her had beenfruitless, even though, aware of his heightened senses, he had tried to "listen" in that strange way which,on the mountain, had allowed him to find her unerringly through the blizzard. But his own fear acted likestatic blurring a sensitive receptor; he could feel her, but where? Had she hidden, like himself after heknew the hopelessness of his search, simply trying to escape the madness of the others? Had she beengripped by the lust and wild sensual euphoria of some of the others, and was she simply caught up in oneof the groups madly pleasuring and indifferent to all else? The thought was agony to MacAran, but it wasthe safest alternative. It was the only bearable alternative--otherwise the thought that she might have metsome murder-crazed crewman before the weapons were safely locked away, the fear that she might haverun into the woods in a recurrence of panic and there been clawed or savaged by some animal, wouldhave driven him quite witless with fear.

His head was buzzing, and he staggered as he walked across the clearing. In a thicket near the

stream he saw motionless bodies--dead or wounded or sated, he could not tell; a quick glance told him

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Camilla was not there and he went on. The ground seemed to rock under his feet and it took all hisconcentration not to dash madly off into the trees, looking for… looking for…

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he wrenched himself back to awareness of his search and grimly went on.

Not in the recreation hall, where members of the New Hebrides Commune were sprawled inexhausted sleep or vacantly strumming musical instruments. Not in the hospital, although on the floor asnowstorm of paper showed him where someone had gone berserk with the medical records…
 
stoopdown, scoop up a handful of paper scraps, sift them through your fingers like falling snow, letthem whirl away on the wind
 
… MacAran never knew how long he stood there listening to the windand watching the playing clouds before the wave of surging madness receded again, like a tidal wavedragging and sucking back from the shore. But the racing clouds had covered the sun, and the wind wasblowing ice-cold by the time he recovered himself and began, in a wave of panic, hunting madly in everycorner and clearing for Camilla.

He entered the computer dome last, finding it darkened (
 
what had happened to the lights! Hadthat explosion knocked them all out, all the power controls from the ship
?) and at first MacAranthought it was deserted. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he made out shadowyfigures back in the corner of the building; Captain Leicester, and--yes--Camilla, kneeling at his side andholding his hand.

By now he took it for granted that he was actually hearing the Captain's thoughts,
 
why have I neverreally seen you before, Camilla
 
? MacAran was amazed and in a small sane part of his mind, ashamedat the wave of primitive emotion that surged over him, a roaring rage that snarled in him and said,
 
thiswoman is mine
!

He came toward them, rising on the balls of his feet, feeling his throat swelling and his teeth drawnback and bared, his voice a wordless snarl. Captain Leicester sprang up and faced him, defiantly, andagain with that odd, heightened sensitivity, MacAran was aware of the mistake the Captain wasmaking…

Another madman, I must protect Camilla against him, that much duty I can still do for mycrew
… and coherent thought blurred out in a surge of rage and desire. It maddened MacAran; Leicestercrouched and sprang at him, and the two men went down, gripping one another, roaring deep in theirthroats in primitive battle. MacAran came uppermost and in a flick of a moment he saw Camilla lyingback tranquilly against the wall;

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but her eyes were dilated and eager and he knew that she was excited by the sight of the struggling men,

that she would accept--passively, not caring--whichever of them now triumphed in the fight--

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Then a wash of sanity came over MacAran. He tore himself free of the Captain, struggling to hisfeet. He said, in a low, urgent voice, "Sir, this is idiotic. If you fight it, you can get out of this. Try to fightit, try to stay sane--"

But Leicester, rolling free, came up to his feet, snarling with rage, his lips flecked with foam and hiseyes unfocused and quite mad. Lowering his head, he charged full steam at MacAran; Rafe, quitecool-headed now, stepped back. He said regretfully, "I'm sorry, Captain," and a well-aimed single blowto the point of the chin connected and knocked the crazed man senseless to the floor.

He stood looking down at him, feeling rage drain out of him like running water. Then he went to Camilla and knelt beside her. She looked up at him and smiled, and suddenly, in the way he could nolonger doubt, they were in contact again. He said gently, "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant, Camilla? I would have worried, but it would have made me very happy, too."

I don't know. At first, I was afraid, I couldn't accept it; it would have changed my life too

much.

But you don't mind now?

She said aloud, "Not just at this minute, I don't mind, but things are so different now. I might change

again."

"Then it isn't an illusion," MacAran said, half aloud, "we are reading each other's minds."

"Of course," she said, still with that tranquil smile, "didn't you know?"

Of course, then, MacAran thought; this is why the winds bring madness.

Primitive man on Earth must have had ESP, the whole gamut of psi powers, as a reserve survivalpower. Not only would it account for the tenacious belief in them against only the sketchiest proof, but itwould account for survival where mere sapience would not. A fragile being, primitive man could not havesurvived without the ability to know (with his eyesight dimmer than the birds, his hearing less than a tenthof that of any dog or carnivore,) where he could find food, water, shelter; how to avoid

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natural enemies. But as he evolved civilization and technology, these unused powers were lost. The man who walks little, loses the ability to run and climb; yet the muscles are there and can be developed, as every athlete and circus performer learns. The man who relies on notebooks loses the ability of the old bards, to memorize day-long epics and genealogies. But for all these millennia the old ESP powers lay dormant in his genes and chromosomes, in his brain--and some chemical in the strange wind (pollen? dust? virus?) had restimulated it.

Madness, then. Man, accustomed to using only five of his senses, bombarded by new data from theunused others, and his primitive brain also stimulated to its height, could not face it, and reacted--someby total, terrifying loss of inhibition; some with ecstasy; some with blank, blind refusal to face the truth.

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If we are to survive on this world, then, we must learn to listen to it; to face it; to use it, not

to fight it.

Camilla took his hand. She said aloud, in a soft voice, "Listen, Rafe. The wind is dying; it will rain,soon, and this will be over. We may change--I may change again with the wind, Rafe. Let us enjoy beingtogether now--while I can." Her voice sounded so sad that the man, too, could have wept. Instead, hetook her hand and they walked quietly out of the dome; at the door Camilla paused, slipped her handgently free of Rafe's and went back. She bent over the Captain, slid her rolled-up windbreaker gentlyunder his head; knelt at his side for a moment and kissed his cheek. Then she rose and came back to Rafe, clinging to him, shaking softly with unshed tears, and he led her out of the dome.

High on the slopes, mists gathered and a soft fine foggy rain began to fall. The small red-eyed furredcreatures, as if waking from a long dream, stared wildly about themselves and scurried for the safety oftheir tree-roads and shelters of woven wood and wicker. The cavorting beasts in the valleys bellowedsoftly in confusion and hunger, abandoned their cavorting and stampeding and began quietly to grazealong the streams again. And, as if waking from a hundred long confused nightmares, the alien men from Earth, feeling the rain on their faces, the effects of the wind receding in their minds, woke and found thatin many cases, the nightmare, acted out, was dreadfully real.

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Captain Leicester came up slowly to consciousness in the deserted computer dome, hearing thesounds of rain beating in the clearing outside. His jaw ached; he struggled up to his feet, feeling his faceruefully, fighting for memory out of the strange confused thoughts of the past thirty-six hours or so. Hisface was furred with stubble, unshaven; his uniform filthy and mussed. Memory? He shook his head,confused; it hurt, and he put his hands to his throbbing temples.

Fragments spun in his mind, half real like a long dream. Gunfire, and a fight of some sort; the sweetface of a red-headed girl, and a sharp unmistakable memory of her body, naked and welcoming--hadthat been real or a wild fantasy? An explosion that had rocked the clearing--the ship? His mind was stilltoo fuzzed with dream and nightmare to know what he had done or where he had gone after that, but heremembered coming back here to find Camilla alone,
 
of course she would protect the computer, like amother hen her one chick
 
, and a vague memory of a long time with Camilla, holding her hand whilesome curious, deep-rooted communion went on, intense and complete, achingly close, yet somehow notsexual, although there had been that too--
 
or was that illusion, confused memory of the redheadedgirl whose name he did not know
--the strange songs she had sung--and another surge of fear andprotectiveness, an explosion in his mind, and then black darkness and sleep.

Sanity returned, a slow rise, a receding of the nightmare. What had been happening to the ship, tothe crew, to the others, in this time of madness? He didn't know. He'd better find out. He vaguelyremembered that someone had been shot, before he freaked out--or was that, too, part of the longmadness? He pressed the button by which he summoned the ship's Security men, but there was noresponse and then he realized that the lights were not working, either. So someone had gotten to thepower sources, in madness. What other damage? He'd better go and find out. Meanwhile, where was Camilla?

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(At this moment she slipped reluctantly away from Rafe, saying gently, "I must go and see what damage has been done in the ship,
 
querido
 
. The Captain, too; remember I am still part of the crew. Our time is over--at least for now. There's going to be plenty for all of us to do. I must go to him--yes, I know, but I love him too, not as I do you,

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but I'm learning a lot about love, my darling, and he may have been hurt.")

She walked across the clearing, through the blowing rain which was beginning to be mixed withheavy wet snow.
 
I hope someone finds some kind of fur-bearing animals, she thought, the clothesmade for Earth won't face a winter here.
 
It was a quite routine thought at the back of her mind as shewent into the darkened dome.

"Where have you been, Lieutenant?" the Captain said thickly. "I have a queer feeling I owe you

some kind of apology, but I can't remember much."

She looked around the dome, quickly assessing damage. "It's foolish to call me Lieutenant here,

you've called me Camilla before this--before we ever landed here."

"Where is everybody, Camilla? I suppose it's the same thing that hit you in the mountains?"

"I suppose so. I imagine before long we'll be up to our ears in the aftermath," she said with a sharp shudder. "I'm frightened, Captain--" she broke off with an odd little smile. "I don't even know your name."

"It's Harry," Captain Leicester said absent-mindedly, but his eyes were fixed on the computer and with a sudden, sharp exclamation Camilla went toward it. She found one of the resin-candles issued for lights and lit it, holding it up to examine the console.

The main banks of storage information were protected by plates from dust, damage, accidentalerasure or tampering. She caught up a tool and began to unfasten the plates, working with feverish haste. The Captain came, caught up by her sir of urgency, and said, "I'll hold the light." Once he had taken it,she moved faster, saying between her teeth, "Someone's been at the plates, Captain, I don't like this--"

The protective plate came away in her hands, and she stared, her face slowly whitening, her hands

dropping to her sides in horror and dismay.

"You know what's happened," she said, her voice sticking in her throat. "It's the computer. At least

half the Programs--maybe more--have been erased. Wiped. And without the computer--"

"Without the computer," Captain Leicester said slowly, "the ship is nothing but a few thousand tons

of scrap metal and junk. We're finished, Camilla. Stranded."

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Chapter