he started working the next morning.

there was no use putting it off, he thought. nemar seemed to act like a drug, gradually depriving you of your drive and ambition. he wasn't going to give it a chance to let its poison seep into him.

he flung himself into his duties as planetary administrator with a grim determination. he struggled to organize the affairs of the planet on a more efficient basis. he introduced new methods and techniques. he worked tirelessly, relentlessly, hardly noticing their passage as one day followed another. and every moment he could spare, he devoted to the project for finding something of value to export.

he was going to put this planet on the map. he didn't know how yet, but he was going to do it.

he was going to turn his misfortune into a triumph.

every hint of a possibility was followed up with eagerness. every lead, every clue, was the subject of exhaustive study and investigation. his days were a succession of guarded hopes and disappointments, of surges of optimism and long stretches of discouragement. he pushed his wearied body into greater and greater efforts, working unflaggingly through the day and most of the night, spurred by the anger that still burned in him.

the natives, he knew, looked at the light burning late into the night and thought he was a little crazy. he gave up eating with them. it was too easy, there by the river, to drift into staying later and later, drinking their hot wine, chatting, watching the dancing. it was too hard to resist the temptation of midnight swimming later with the young men and women at the nearby beach, with revels and bonfires on the lavender sands afterward.