Allyn tensed, watchful, flame gun ready. He saw the dark eyes open, not sleepy, but with full awareness, as with a wild beast. The well conditioned muscles tightened.
"Don't move!" Allyn aimed the gun.
The prone man froze. He well knew the power of the weapon. The taut muscles did not relax, but remained arrested, waiting for one unguarded instant to spring at the other's throat.
"Don't be alarmed," the Numan reassured, "I won't hurt you."
No sign that the other heard. But in the rigid muscles, distrust was plain.
"Try getting up—but slowly. You've lost a lot of blood."
The Olman rose with easy grace. As he did he noticed the dressing on his leg, and wild hate flamed his face.
"Why didn't you let the rats finish me! It would have been cleaner than death in your experimental camps."
"I didn't save you for the camps. You're free to return to your kinsmen."
The youth stared. "I never heard of mercy from a Numan," he said suspiciously. "A twenty-year-old like me would last a long time in the hands of the vivisectionists of your people."