"Sure, lad. That's all." He looked anxiously at the bearded derelict. "Ye don't mean it was too much?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Thorne waved aside the other's troubled protest, his brows knitting. He had had more than that before, but even to stronger men than himself such a dose meant stunned, broken stupor that might well last from two to four days. Yet he felt nothing.
"Fraser, when you found me, where was I?"
"Out cold on a sand-hill, lad. O'Leary spotted you from the engine room as we sailed by. Ye had a Martian spear ... and something else I want to talk to you about later."
Thorne did not catch the other's meaning, but pressed on. "There was no city near?"
"City!" Fraser stared. "Ye mean ... oh, ye mean a deserted city, eh? No, there was no city. No cities in those parts to my knowledge. Mirage country, ye know, lad. One o' them?"
"Could you remember—were there plants near me—Martian desert plants like cactus—maybe t'ang bushes?"
"Can't say, Thorne. None right near ye, anyhow. Just clear sand. Why?"
"Could you find the spot again?"
"Sure. Right in the log. Aimin' to go back?"