The girl's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Dave Hanson," she said
gently. "We should have thought to warn you. You were a difficult
conjuration--and even the easier ones often go wrong these days. We did
our best, though it may be that the auspices were too strong on the
soma. I'm sorry if you don't like the way you look. But there's nothing
we can do about it now."

Hanson opened the door again, in spite of Nema's quick frown, and looked
at himself. "Well," he admitted, "I guess it could be worse. In fact, I
guess it was worse--once I get used to looking like this, I think I'll
get to like it. But seeing it was a heck of a thing to take for a sick
man."

Nema said sharply, "Are you sick?"

"Well--I guess not."

"Then why say you are? You shouldn't be; I told you we've entered the
House of Sagittarius now. You can't be sick in your own sign. Don't you
understand even that much elementary science?"

Hanson didn't get a chance to answer. Ser Perth was suddenly in the
doorway, dressed in a different type of robe. This was short and somehow
conservative--it had a sincere, executive look about it. The man seemed
changed in other ways, too. But Dave wasn't concerned about that. He was
growing tired of the way people suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Maybe
they all wore rubber-soled shoes or practiced sneaking about; it was a
silly way for grown people to act.