He was in a hostel room, standing before a standar bunk surrounded by unstandard equipment. He wore his pantaloons but nothing else. A thin man in an effeminat white smock winced with the continuing pressure of his grip. Sos released him, looking for the exit.
Not a hostel room, for this room was square. The standard furnishings had given him the impression. He had never seen a cabin this-shape, however.
'I must say, that's an unusual recovery!' the man remarked, rubbing his arm. He was of middle age with sparse hair and pale features: obviously long parted from sun and circle.
'Are you a crazy?'
'Most people in your situation are content to inquire 'Where am I?' or something mundane like that. You're certainly original.'
'I did not come to the mountain to be mocked,' Sos said, advancing on him.
The man touched a button in the wall. 'We have a live one,' he said.
'So I see,' a feminine voice replied from nowhere. An intetcom, Sos realized. So they were crazies. 'Put him in the rec room. I'll handle it.'
The man touched a second button. A door slid open beside him. 'Straight to the end. All your questions will be answered.'
Sos rushed by him, more anxious to find the way out than to question an uncooperative stranger. But the hail did not lead out; it continued interminably, closed doors on either side. This was certainly no hostel, nor was it a building like the school run by the crazies. It was too big.
He tried a door, finding it locked. He thought about breaking it down, but was afraid that would take too much time. He had a headache, his muscles were stiff and flaccid at once, his stomach queasy. He felt quite sick, physically, and just wanted to get out before any more annoying strangers came along.
The end door was open. He stepped into a very large room filled with angular structures: horizontal bars, vertical rods, enormous boxes seemingly formed of staffs tied together at right angles. He had no idea what it all signified and was too dizzy and ill to care.
A light hand fell across his arm, making him jump. He grabbed for his rope and whirled to face the enemy.
The rope was gone, of course, and the one who touched him was a girl. Her head did not even reach to his shoulder.
She wore a baggy coverall, and her hair was bound in a close-fitting headcap, making her look boyish. Her tiny feet were bare.
Sos relaxed, embarrassed, though his head still throbbed and the place still disturbed him by its confinement. He had never been this tense before, yet inadequate. If only he could get out into the open forest.
'Let me have this,' the little girl said. Her feather-gentle fingers slid across his forearm and fastened upon the bracelet. In a moment she had it off.
He grabbed for it angrily, but she eluded him. 'What are you doing?' he demanded.
She fitted the golden clasp over her own wrist and squeezed it snug. 'Very nice. I always wanted one of these,' she said pertly. She lifted a pixie eyebrow at him. 'What's your name?'
'Sos the-Sos,' he said, remembering his defeat in the circle and considering himself, therefore, weaponless. He reached for her again, but she danced nimbly away. 'I did not give that to you!'
'Take it back, then,' she said, holding out her wrist. Her arm was slender but aesthetically rounded, and he wondered just how young she was. Certainly not old enough to be playing such games-with a grown man.
Once more he reached.. . and grasped air. 'Girl, you anger me.'
'If you are as slow to anger as you are to move, I have nothing to worry about, monster.'
This time he leaped for her, slow neither to anger nor to motion-and missed her again.
'Come on, baby,' she cooed, wriggling her upraised wrist so that the metal band glittered enticingly. 'You don't like being mocked, you say, so don't let a woman get away with
