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Foghead

Colonel Stephen Matt knew that the war was going badly. Each major battle began with Earth and her allies inferior in numbers and strength. Only a leadership that delighted in ambush, surprise, and hairbreadth timing enabled Earth to block the enemy advance. And only such a leadership could have lured Colonel Stephen Matt, bruised veteran of innumerable clashes with the enemy and his own headquarters, to volunteer for something called "detached high-level courier duty."

Matt, seated uneasily in the general's office, wondered why the general found it necessary to give a resume of the war effort before mentioning what Matt was to do. It occurred to Matt to wonder also just what he was to deliver, and where.

Matt watched closely as the general's pointer of light drifted through a cloud of white dots in the star model.

"Here," said the general, "our star systems and theirs are heavily fortified." He touched, with his pointer, pale silver spheres thickly packed in the far side of the star cloud. "These are the enemy's fortified star systems."

He glanced thoughtfully at Matt. "As you see, colonel, a man would need the farsightedness of a ground mole to attack there. Each of those systems is independent, and separately supplied from the rear. Capture the nearest dozen, and the hundreds behind can put up as violent a resistance as ever."

Matt nodded in agreement.

"Yet," said the general, "all these strong points need supplies." He touched a switch. A cable of bright green ran into the farthest part of the enemy's half of the star cloud, and branched out into a network of fine hairlike lines.

"This," said the general, "is the enemy's main supply route and its branches. The alternate routes are a botch of little-used and wasteful detours. If we could just get at the main trunk of this supply route—"

He swung his pointer around the star cloud, started in toward the green cable, then stopped. "But the distances in this arc are so great that the enemy has ample warning, and can move by shorter routes to block us."

The general put down his pointer.

"In brief," he said, "ordinary military movements can't win the war. Diplomatic measures can't end it, because the enemy won't make peace. We can't settle down to fight it out here forever, because the enemy's larger civilization gives him a cumulative advantage in productivity and manpower. We can't withdraw, because we would merely end up fighting further back and in a worse position. From the enemy's point of view, this boils down to a happy conclusion: the humans can't win the war; they can't draw it; they can't end it; we'll crush them."

The general picked up his pointer, and touched, one-by-one, a number of widely separated stars reaching from the Terran-controlled region around the star cloud toward the green cable.

"A while back," said the general, "we discovered a means for the very rapid transmission of matter from point to point. We should be able to compound this advantage into a first-rate catastrophe for the enemy. The difficulty is, the method can't be applied to a ship as a drive. It has to be used as a station. Do you follow me?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

"The device," said the general, "will throw a ship as a radio throws the human voice. But it's no good unless there's a receiver already set up where you want to go."

Matt nodded, in dawning recognition of what was to come.

"We are," said the general, "quietly setting up a chain of stations. We need one more."

He touched the pointer to a little white dot close to the green cable.

"When we have a station set up here, we can send a fleet through, rip that supply line wide open, seize the star systems nearby, set up more stations around them, and cut the enemy off from his base. With superior mobility, we should be able to throw him into a fog of uncertainties at the very moment when he has to hit hard and fast."

The general paused, and got control of his enthusiasm.

"However," he said, "before we can do that, someone has to go in and set up the station."

He looked at Matt.

Matt looked at the little white dot behind enemy lines.

"That," said the general, with enthusiasm, "is your job."

While Matt absorbed this, the general added, "We have had to make our preparations in a great hurry, but all necessary care has been used. Actually, the dangerous part will be getting there. Once you're there, everything should be comparatively simple."

He unrolled a big map and went into details. At the end, he looked at Matt.

"Any questions?"

Matt, mentally reviewing what the general had said, in hopes of not finding later that some crucial detail had escaped him, thought a moment longer, then said, "Sir, this could change the whole war, couldn't it?"

The general nodded. "The disruption of that supply trunk could enable us to defeat the enemy in that whole region. Along with some other changes, it could mean the initiative will pass from them to us."

A natural question occurred to Matt, who hesitated a moment, then decided that if he were rebuffed, he would be no worse off than before. "Sir? 'Other changes'?"

The general noted Matt's expression, and smiled. "The biggest change has already happened; that's the elimination of the Out saboteur from his perch in CAP itself. When your enemy has great powers of mental suggestion, the last place you want him is in your Capital between the President and your Chief of the General Staff. To get rid of that one was very expensive, but worth it."

Matt noted that he hadn't been rebuffed. But his question had been neatly sidetracked. He was mentally preparing to leave when the general cleared his throat.

"The most immediate of the other changes, colonel, all involve the return of our command structure to somewhere near normal. Ideas like 'elastic counterdefensive' have been fed to the garbage grinder. We again have a general reserve capable of influencing events. The supplies to the troops now meet their actual needs, or else the Supply Corps gets a change of officers. Offensives rest not on desperate hopes, but on first gaining some strong advantage over the enemy, along with a reasonable calculation that the odds favor victory."

He paused and looked at Matt. "But there is a more indirect change. The development of new devices is back on track—things that can change the realities of the conflict. This device you are to—ah—deliver—is a good example. It will take great skill, but when you do it, it will cut the ground out from under the Outs. It can eventually turn the whole course of the war against them. But there are details in your mission that none of us can know in advance, so you'll need to be alert, and ready to use every resource available to you. We're counting on you to do it. And we have every confidence you will do it."

Matt, who on the basis of experience trusted the high command the way a cat trusts dogs, found himself in agreement, with a sudden total dedication to the job, and a determination to find in advance as many of these unknowable ruinous details as he could.

He came out of the general's office with a thick wad of orders in an inside pocket, and a perfectly blank expression on his face. He walked across the close-clipped lawns, and past the neatly-trimmed hedges and borders of the Base without seeing them. He returned salutes automatically, and when a pretty girl in a print dress stepped out of an ivy-covered arch, saw the look on his face, and brought her hand up in mock salute, he retuned that, too, with a deadpan expression that left her uncertain whether to laugh or admire.

Matt was thinking that he had to find some way around a drastic shortage of time. He was to meet his crew and lift ship in less than an hour. The planners of his flight seemed to have spared no pains in working out minute details of course and timing. But the question of the crew was another matter.

Matt showed his pass at the outer door of the Communications Building, went in, dropped his card in the slot of a soundproofed booth, and snapped on the screen. He took out a little pad, and copied a name and serial number from his orders. He dialed Personnel Director, bulled his way past lieutenants, captains, and a major, and left half-a-dozen wounded egos behind him in a little under five minutes. A lieutenant colonel decided to co-operate with him.

"Let's see, sir, you want the most recent available former commanding officer of Captain Andrew A. Decker, O-16R-73472?"

"Right," said Matt, checking the name he'd copied on the pad. "And I don't have much time."

"I'll get the calculator right on it, sir."

"Thank you."

Six or seven minutes later, a scowling colonel appeared. "What's this about Decker?"

"He's been assigned to me. I understand you've worked with him."

The colonel looked wary. "Why?"

"Did you ever have to do a tricky job, in a hurry, with a small heterogeneous crew, and an officer you've never met before?"

"Ah," said the colonel, "I understand. Well... Decker. He's efficient, reliable, devoted to duty, only—" The colonel hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Only—Listen, I don't know what goes on in Decker's head sometimes. Maybe the boy's a frustrated scientist. Anyway, don't let his curiosity get stirred up."

Matt blinked.

"I mean it," said the colonel. "One minute everything will be going along fine. You've got a devoted officer in Decker. He's working hard. Then—blam!—a dried green beetle with yellow spots on its wing rolls out of an old report from Procristhus, or something else on that order, and there's Decker with a pin in one hand and a pocket magnifier in the other, bent over the beetle. Work's forgotten. Pretty soon, he's sketching the thing. Next he's prying up a wing. Phew! You can take the beetle away from him, true, but then all you've got is a shell. The boy's mind is still on the bug. The only practical thing to do is to shove him into a corner somewhere and get along without him till the fever passes."

Matt combined this item of information with what he already know about the composition of his crew.

The colonel saw Matt's expression and added hastily. "But, aside from this, he's a fine man. An excellent officer. You can rely on him. Generally."

When Matt and the colonel were through, there was just time to send a few brief personal messages, and get to the spacefield.

At the spacefield, no time was wasted on introductions. But, in a general way, Matt met his crew.

Decker, the communications specialist, proved to be an alert-appearing officer of twenty-some. He seemed courteous and intelligent, and had a glowing look of athletic good health.

The other Terran officer was a tall, wary major, by the name of Andanelli. Matt had known Andanelli before, and noted with smile that the major's left eyelid still drooped in a sad, knowing, cynical look.

Andanelli introduced Matt to the rest of his crew, whose names Matt remembered from his orders as:

Sttongg, Q—Klittsman, 1st, 1. K. S. F.

Battokk, D.—Klittsman, 2nd, 1. K. S. F.

Klongk, X.—Klittsman, 2nd 1. K. S. F.

Rrriffuntarr—M. A. F. L. L.

Stongg, Battokk, and Klongk each had light fur, and expressions of powerful determination on their faces. Each stood slightly under seven feet tall, and each was built with the massiveness usually reserved for armored gun turrets and doors of bank vaults. Aside from this, they looked more or less human.

Rrriffuntarr, on the other hand, had short, dark purple fur, the proportions of a saber-toothed tiger, and a slightly dubious expression while glancing around at the other members of the crew.

Matt said a few suitable words, and climbed in through the hatch.

Andanelli followed, grumbling, "Well, the Kraath and the Lithian aren't at each other's throats yet. There's plenty of time for that, though."

Decker clambered in next, asking in a low voice, "Do they fight?"

Matt turned to see Sttongg, Battokk, and Klongk drop inside with perfect timing and grace.

After a moment, Rrriffuntarr dropped in, turned, and reached out a paw. Layers of muscle rippled under the close purple fur. The heavy hatch swung shut with a clang. The paw flashed out and back. The locking wheel spun tight.

Matt walked thoughtfully into the control room.

Andanelli was feeding tape into the autopilot, his long fingers reaching out to stab buttons and flip switches as he glanced from the tape to the plot-viewer.

Decker was standing by with an absorbed look. "...fire hoses wouldn't split them apart?"

Andanelli glanced with a scowl at the tape, then back into viewer. "No," he grunted, "we even spun ship, and that didn't work."

Matt slid into the control seat, glanced at the instrument console, and frowned.

"Andy," he said, "are you familiar with this model?"

Andanelli, scowling into the plot-viewer, said, "Scout cruiser, 2RC3s, sir."

"Any eccentricities?"

"None that I know of, sir. But they've got an awful thin hull. If the countercurrents give out we may have quite a time getting her down."

There was a low whine from amidships.

Matt swung a microphone around. "Ready," he warned, his voice booming through the ship. "We lift in thirty seconds." He repeated the warning in Kraath and Lithian, snapped the 'Base' switch, and said, "T. S. F. Drake to Base. I have twenty-three seconds till take-off. Am I clear?"

"You're clear, Drake."

Matt watched the chronometer needle swing up.

He heard Andanelli say, "...eight thousand casualties, just between allies, and never saw an enemy."

The needle swung to zero.

There was a screaming whine from the countercurrent converters.

The ship lifted.

Matt maneuvered through the congested flight lanes near Base, carefully checked course and speed, and put the ship on automatic.

Andanelli was still squinting into the plot-viewer. "You know," he said, "this course breaks in and out of subspace at some tricky spots. Take this third jump, for instance. We come out near the center of mass, between the two suns of a binary star. If we're off just a hair in either direction, we could find ourselves working out the three-body problem by trial and error."

"I know," said Matt, "but it can't be helped. We'll be in enemy territory. Every time we break in or out of subspace, it'll show up on their detectors. We have to mask our movements as best was can, and that binary should be a big help."

Andanelli let his breath out in a wheeze, and punched the spacing lever on the plot viewer to get successive images of the course. "This is the trickiest layout I've seen since we almost got cooked raiding their supply base. As I remember, we called that, 'Operation Frying Pan.'"

"This is the same idea exactly," said Matt, with a faint grin. "Better to overheat the hull a little, than to get one of those monster cruisers hot on our trail."

"Only," said Andanelli, staring hard into the viewer, "this route plants us right between their teeth. Then it leaves us." He jabbed the spacing lever futilely. "How do we get out? Where are the alternate escape routes?"

"We don't get out," said Matt. "That's the whole point." Carefully, and in minute detail, he explained the general's plan.

Andanelli listened with wide eyes. At the end, his usual gloomy expression was replaced by a blank, considering look. "Hm-m-m," he said, and turned back to the viewer. Matt turned and saw Decker standing just inside the door, his expression thoughtful and intent. Beside Decker sat Rrriffuntarr, lower jaw slightly open, the pupils of its big eyes dilated in a remote gaze.

Behind Rrriffuntarr stood Sttongg, Battokk, and Klongk, their heavy brows contracted in intense concentration.

Andanelli turned from the plot viewer with a look of awe, and said slowly, "Well, by space, it might just—"

Decker blinked and slowly straightened up. "Might just work, at that," he concluded.

The pupils of Rrriffuntarr's eyes contracted to vertical slits. There was a low swishing sound as the dark purple tail thrashed the deck. Then Rrriffuntarr let out a hair-tingling growl of satisfaction.

Sttongg, Battokk and Klongk looked at each other with grim smiles, and nodded approval. The autopilot let out a warning clang.

"First jump," said Andanelli.

The ship went into subspace.

The largest part of the trip went by in a series of hairbreadth escapes as the Drake squeaked in and out of subspace under the covering glare of giant suns. To occupy their time between breaks, Matt and Andanelli checked and rechecked their equipment, and carefully studied the details of the final landing.

"What I can't understand," said Andanelli, "is how this planet, that just happens to be ideally suited to our purpose, could be located so close to their main supply route and not be occupied."

"I know," said Matt, studying the enlarged UCF photos. "It's a strange thing. The general said he thought maybe this planet is located at an awkward distance between two other bases."

"Are we sure it really is Earth-type?"

"The scout ship that took the photos crash-landed on it," said Matt. He put his pencil on the wide flat top of a bluff overlooking a shelf of land near the edge of an island. "They came down here, on the flat top of this bluff, got out and worked on the ship all night and into the next morning."

"Without suits?"

"Without suits. They were afraid they'd been tracked, and wanted to get out of there as fast as they could. If they wore suits, they'd be clumsy and it would take just so much longer."

"Hm-m-m." Andanelli frowned. "All the same, it isn't natural to leave a planet unoccupied so close to your vitals."

Matt nodded. "I had the same objection. But the fact remains, they have left it unoccupied. If we can get down there and set up the station, it won't matter what their reason is."

Andanelli twisted around to look at the photo from another angle. "Say," he said, looking up, "why do we have to set that up on any planet? Why not in space? There'd be less chance of our being spotted."

Matt shook his head. "The station gives off enough radiation to show on their detectors. They'd get curious and come out for a look. On the planet, the radiation is masked, and we're spared that. Even if they didn't spot us right away, the fleet has to come through one ship at a time. If they caught us with only part of the fleet through, they could smash us."

"Suppose that planet weren't there?"

"Be thankful it is. Otherwise, we'd have to orbit the station around a sun."

Andanelli picked up the photographs and studied them carefully. "Well," he said, "it looks all right. It's too bad the UCF doesn't pick up the fine details of vegetation, and so on."

"Yes, but then every cloud, tree, and momentary patch of fog would hide permanent features of the landscape."

"True, it has its points." Andanelli put the photos back on the table. "Do we have the report of that ship? The one that crash-landed there?"

Matt slid around some papers. "Fragmentary enough." He and Andanelli read them together. After detailing a close escape from an enemy's homing missiles, and the resulting damage to the ship, which crash-landed, on the planet, and—

"...we almost went over the bluff. Since there was no time to lose, we ran a few quick checks on atmospheric composition while Lieutenant Smith went out in a suit and checked the damage. The atmosphere seemed all right, so we went out without suits, draped the aft section with blankets to hide the light and went to work. It was a cold foggy night but the air was breathable. The job was comparatively simple without the suits to foul us up. The only trouble was that the hit had jammed one of the retaining rings out of shape, and the whole aft section was knocked slightly askew. Everything stuck tight, and we had to jimmy and niggle the units out by inches. We didn't get through till it was starting to get light the next day. Then we got out of there fast. Time of departure was—"

"Well—" said Andanelli scowling, "apparently nothing unusual happened."

"Their medical records were checked over," said Matt. "No unusual sickness."

Andanelli's dubious look gradually cleared way. "Well," he said, glancing at the report, "you never know. That planet could be awkwardly located for them, and so far in their back yard that they figure there's no need for a garrison. Or, there might be some jurisdictional squabble between a couple of their generals. You never can tell."

"In any case," said Matt, "there it is." He touched the flat-looking shelf of land below the bluff where the ship had crash-landed. "We're to come down here, plant the relay on the bluff, level a spot down below and set the receiver up under the bluff. The first ship through will be crammed with engineers and heavy earth-moving equipment. In just a short time, we could have a sizeable base right in their back yard."

The two men went over the plans for setting up the station and studied each detail, hunting for the flaw that could hamstring them later on.

As Matt and Andanelli worked in the control room, they were vaguely conscious of noises in the aft compartment, where Sttongg, Battokk, and Klongk alternately did calisthenics and huddled in concentration over a game called "squeeze." Squeeze was played on a board with twelve squares on a side, each player starting with twenty-four men in the last two rows.

Decker was watching this game with a little black book on alien-race psychology in his hand, and an expression of stupefaction on this face. The two sides in the game quickly got jammed together in the center. Each player moved without hesitation, trying to pile up more men in one part of his line than his opponent had. When this came about, the opponent was forced back a space. However, to get more men in one place meant having fewer men in another, therefore, how—

The game rushed on, one side grinding forward, then the other, with here and there a man next to two opposing pieces picked up, a grant as captured men were traded—why were those men captured, and not others?—traded men were fed back onto the last row on the board, apparent slips, errors, and oversight took place in rapid succession, and vanished in new arrangements before Decker could figure out what had happened.

There was a low growl at Decker's elbow, where Rrriffuntarr looked at the board with obvious distaste, turned and bounded to the top of a partition, strolled with delicate balance to a narrow walk over the converter compartment, and thence to a hammock slung up there in the dimness and comparative privacy.

Meanwhile, Matt and Andanelli had finished checking details on paper, and were prying open the solidly-constructed crate of a J-bug, a small earth-moving machine that was to level a site for the receiver. "Where," said Matt, looking around after a struggle with a crowbar, "is Decker? He might as well help us with this."

Andanelli put down a hammer and frowned. "I completely forgot Decker. I'll go get him sir."

Decker acted as if he were eager to be helpful, but had unfortunately lost the use of his mind. He methodically hammered in a row of nails Andanelli had pulled partway out. He tripped over a projecting brace, and grabbed for support a crowbar Matt was using to pry off a strip of wood. As his two superiors glared down at him, Decker did not get up, but instead pulled from his hip pocket a small black book. Scowling in concentration, he thumbed through it.

"What?" growled Andanelli "is bothering you now, kid?"

Decker looked up with a frown.

"It says here, 'the ardent playing of the squeeze game bears a functional relationship to the onset of pratha.' What's pratha?"

Matt and Andanelli stared at each other. "Oh... oh," said Andanelli. "They have started that, haven't they?"

Matt put down his hammer. "This will have to wait," he said.

Matt and Andanelli, with Decker looking over their shoulders, feverishly hunted through the records of the three Kraath, then looked at each other in weary disgust. Matt pulled over a pad and worked out precise calculation. "That's great," said Andanelli, looking on. "We can't say 'yes,' and we can't say 'no.'"

"Well," said Matt grimly, "there are likely to be these little oversights when an expedition is made up in a hurry, and this one was thrown together in a desperate rush. Now we pay the price."

"But what is it?" said Decker. "Sir, what's pratha?"

Matt started painstakingly checking his figures. "Tell him," he growled.

Andanelli said, "Once a year, the Kraath have a big get-together. They play games, pick mates, and so on." Andanelli shook his head gloomily.

Decker blinked, "You mean, they're likely to go into pratha while we're setting up the receiver?"

"Yeah. Or sooner."

"What's so bad about that? I mean, what harm—"

"You never saw it. They're like a drunk that isn't happy unless everybody else is drunk. And we've got Rrriffuntarr on board."

Matt slapped down his pencil and shook his head. "Why they never learn to keep Kraath and Lithians separated—"

"But," said Decker, "if it comes around regularly, why didn't we know?"

"It hits them," said Andanelli, "in spring on the planet of their birth. They've got more than one home planet; spring comes at different times depending on the home planet, and on whether they live in the northern or southern hemisphere. To make it worse, their years are different lengths, so pratha can come any time on our calendar. But the real trouble is, nobody at headquarters knows what it's like unless he's been through it."

"With," said Matt, "a Lithian around."

"Why?" said Decker.

Andanelli groaned.

Matt said, "Can you picture Rrriffuntarr happily playing squeeze with Klongk, and then singing songs all night with Sttongg and Battokk, while Klongk whacks him on the back every few minutes?"

Decker stared off into distance. "No," he said finally, "I can't."

"That's it," said Matt. "Rrriffuntarr wants peace and quiet. Klongk, Sttongg and Battokk went everybody happy. Once that combination gets going, there's nothing to do but dive for the shelters."

"I see it now," said Decker, looking a little awed.

Andanelli glanced around gloomily. "It's a small ship. I hope we make planetfall before it starts."

Matt got up suddenly. "We better check that J-bug."

This time, Decker was a help as they ripped open the crate.

Close inspection showed the J-bug to be in good shape. The same seemed to hold true of the rest of the equipment. Everything appeared to have been arranged with forethought. Except that now the three Kraath had taken to singing songs in the evening. Their voices were deep and loud, with a dull booming quality such as might have been expected of giant bullfrogs.

The overall effect was like listening to an orchestra make up entirely of bass drums.

Matt was totally immersed in the effort to find a short cut. The chance, he knew, was small, but it might save the situation if he could. He was checking an unlikely long jump when something jostled his elbow.

Matt looked up to see a massive purple flank. Rrriffuntarr was sitting next to him, back to the wall, eyes glittering in the direction of the booming Kraath trio. "R'r'r'r," said Rrriffuntarr.

"It's a miserable noise all right," said Matt, speaking Lithian.

"R'r'r'r. R'r'r'r'r'r," said Rrriffuntarr, angrily.

Matt forgot about the short cut. The situation wasn't going to hold together that long. Rrriffuntarr was now growling steadily, a monotonous rumble that rose and fell, thick with menace.

Andanelli was standing by the doorway with his eyes shut, and his lips moving, as if in prayer.

Decker came in, saw Rrriffuntarr, and took a hasty step out of the way.

The growl was slowly rising to a threatening whine, a noise that cut at the eardrums as harshly as the Kraath singing battered at them.

Abruptly, Matt had an idea. Matt spoke loudly, his voice rasping and snapping in angry Lithian. "Here we sit, with that noise blasting us out of our senses, and the outlanders are too drugged to see reason. I can't take much more of this racket."

"Neither can I," snarled Rrriffuntarr.

Andanelli squinted hard. "Nor me either," he said.

"But," said Matt forcefully, "if we rip them up to end this awful noise, it wrecks our chance to win the war."

Rrriffuntarr let out a roar of frustration and rage.

From the other room came a new tune—a choppy, crooning noise like a forest of hollow trees attacked by woodpeckers.

"Aieeow!" cried Rrriffuntarr.

"Quick!" yelled Matt. "We can't stand it! We can't end it! Let's howl them down—War by voice!"

Rrriffuntarr's glittering eyes widened, narrowed. The huge chest expanded. Rrriffuntarr's sharp-fanged mouth opened wide. There was a high, wavering siren noise like the brash horn at a spaceport.

Rrriffuntarr, eyes shut and head tilted, braced all four legs and cast around with a cutting screech that sawed at the Terrans' nerves, and left them with eyes shut, hands pressed to their ears, and a sensation of dancing spots in their heads.

Time hung suspended.

The terrible noise stopped.

Matt blinked, and suddenly spun to scribble rapidly on a pad.

From the other part of the ship came total silence.

Rrriffuntarr's head was cocked attentively on one side, listening.

Decker stepped into the corridor and called out, "We want to join your singing. Is that all right?"

"Andy," said Matt hurriedly, "come here and help me check this."

From the other end of ship came a hollow voice, "Pratha time is not yet."

Andanelli bent over Matt's figures, and sucked in his breath sharply.

Decker translated to Rrriffuntarr, who gave a sort of grin and lay down on the deck, tail thrashing.

"You've got it," said Andanelli. "That'll get us there well ahead of time."

"It came to me," said Matt, "just as Rrriffuntarr hit that high note."

There was noise nearby like a big engine running slowly.

Matt and Andanelli looked down.

Rrriffuntarr was purring.

The two men began to tape the new course.

Matt spent the last part of the trip explaining every detail about the landing and setting up the receiver to the Kraath and Rrriffuntarr. The three Kraath absorbed the information with relentless concentration. If a point was not clear to them the first time, the second time, or the tenth time, they were prepared to hold their minds fixed on it indefinitely, till finally they understood.

Rrriffuntarr, on the other hand appeared to approach problems by indirection, tentatively testing out first one angle of attack, then another, and seemingly getting nowhere till—pounce!—suddenly the answer was clear.

Matt had to admit that both methods seemed to work. As the time approached to make the landing, he was well satisfied that everyone understood what had to be done, and—as possible—why.

Now if they could just make planetfall before Sttongg, Battokk and Klongk went into pratha and had a war with Rrriffuntarr. Already, the three Kraath had taken to singing songs in low voices—a sound like distant thumping of cannibal drums. Rrriffuntarr was wandering around, sitting down first here, then there, muttering low growls, tail thrashing, and claws sliding out to bunch the thin plastic sheeting over the steel deck. Andanelli came in tense-faced, "They're playing that game all the time, now."

Matt glanced at the chronometer. "We break out of subspace in about twenty minutes."

He repeated in Lithian for the benefit of Rrriffuntarr, who got up and began pacing back and forth, tail twitching spasmodically.

The twenty minutes till break-out passed like a leisurely eternity. Decker went in to ask the Kraath to please sing in lower voices, and did not come back. Andanelli went to check up, and reported that Decker had been trapped into a game with Sttongg. Soon, Decker's voice drifted out, complaining, "Why shouldn't I take that man? What's the point, anyway?" Sttongg's voice could be heard, urging, "Move! Move! This is life!" This was sung, first slow, then fast; first low, then loud; it was crooned and chanted, sung smoothly, then with a hammering intonation.

Rrriffuntarr lay down with a growl, tail stretched out straight and limp, forepaws clutched over forehead.

Andanelli stared uneasily at the Lithian. Matt tensely watched the chronometer. Finally the autopilot gave a sharp clang.

"Thank God," said Andanelli. The ship came out of subspace in the overpowering glare of a sun. Matt hastily checked his instruments, scanned for the planet by UCF, and hurtled the ship away from the sun.

The three Kraath came out of pratha long enough to help get the tiny signal satellite into its agonizing precise orbit. Then Matt dropped the ship toward the planet. Everyone crowded behind, watching the screen. The UCF showed the contours of the ground clearly, unobscured by clouds or vegetation. Matt watched as a leaden sea swung up heavily below them. Then a number of islands came into view; two faced each other with wide-flat-topped bluffs overlooking shelves of low land bordering a narrow strait.

Matt snapped a switch, and the projected image of the UCF photo he and Andanelli had looked over appeared on the screen. Matt turned a knob to enlarge it, then spun the image slowly around. The outlines of photo and direct UCF reception matched.

Matt slowed the ship and began to drop.

There was no sign of an enemy base down below. Still, Matt thought it was impossible to know for sure. He became aware of the crowd behind him. "O.K.," he said. "Everyone to his station."

There was the thud of big feet, the scratch of claws, then a rumble as the turrets of the ship slid open their covers.

Matt threw the recording switch, then kept his eyes on the UCF screen as the ship dropped fast down the side of the bluff.

Decker's voice came to him, sounding a little dubious: "Nose turret ready." One by one, the others reported in, each voice registering uncertainly.

Matt swung the UCF rapidly. No sign of trouble. A lucky thing, he thought. The friction between the Kraath and Rrriffuntarr had already drained their energy. It would, Matt thought, be good to get out in the open again on an earth-type planet, free of the restraint of life in the confined space of the ship.

The UCF spun around again, to show the face of the bluff, flowing up as the ship dropped to a landing. What appeared to be layers of rock, showing an odd weathering effect, rose into view. Matt stopped the turning of the UCF, and said, "Decker—"

"Sir?"

"How does that bluff look to you? Is that rock?"

"Rock? The... what? ...you said, sir?"

"The bluff," said Matt, frowning. "I want to check your impression against what I see on the UCF. If that weathered rock on the bluff?"

Something appeared momentarily on the screen, a small gray blur against the background of the bluff.

"Sir," said Decker nervously, "all I can see is a dark grayness. We seem to be inside a pretty thick cloud, sir."

The ship settled gently. Matt frowned, checked his instruments, then reached out to snap off the converters.

A section of the screen about two inches across showed a pattern like that of the ripples when a pebble is dropped in still water. The pattern oscillated rapidly, then blurred to a solid gray blot on the screen.

Matt, one hand still on the converter switch, swung the UCF back and forth. The blur moved back and forth with it.

"Can anyone see anything?" he asked.

"Not I," growled Rrriffuntarr.

"No, sir," said the Kraath.

Andanelli said, "Sir, I thought this was a cloud, too, at first. But this is too dense for any cloud I ever saw. And there seems to be some kind of layer—"

Decker said, "I see that, too, now. But it wasn't there before."

Andanelli's voice grated. "There seems to be some kind of layer on the outer surface of this turret. Sir, I wonder if they've got a coat of sunscreen on these turrets?"

Matt, thinking fast, recalled that the other ship, that had crashed here, had stayed a full night without mention of any deposit that had formed on it. And it would be just like a hurried official to order a coat of sunscreen after a quick glance at the route.

Matt snapped off the converters.

Three widely-separated sections of the screen, each about two inches across, showed an oscillating ripple pattern that blurred to a blot of gray.

"Decker," said Matt, "get down here!"

There was a clang, and a rush of feet, "Sir?"

"What's happening to this screen?"

Decker bent over Matt's shoulder. He reached down to swing the UCF. On the screen, the four blots traveled back and forth.

"Sir," said Decker, in a puzzled voice, "I don't know. Maybe a meteor when we—"

"Meteor, nothing," said Matt sharply. "This has happened since we came down."

"Then I don't know, sir," said Decker.

Matt raised the UCF slowly, studying the cliff. What had looked like layers of weathered rock now seemed too regular for normal weathering.

Matt asked, "Could bullets cause those blurs?"

"They might, sir. I don't know, for sure."

Matt looked up. "You're the communications officer. Would they, or wouldn't they?"

Decker hesitated. "I think so, sir."

Matt clamped his jaw, and snapped the audio receptor switch. There was a hum as the detector rose out of its well. Matt put on the phones, heard a buzzing noise and a slow dripping sound.

There was an especially loud buzz, and on the screen a gray blur, and oscillation, and another blank blot.

The overall buzz seemed to grow louder.

Matt turned the UCF slowly. The bluff swung past, and there was the shelf, sloping to the choppy gray of the sea. Matt stiffened; the shelf of land had looked flat enough in the photo. Now that they were here, it was plain to be seen that it had definite tilt.

The slanting shelf swung past. Matt had a view of the sea, and of another shelf and bluff on an island about half a mile away.

There was a loud droning buzz in the earphones, and in the background, a steady drip-drip, drip-drip.

Their own bluff swung back into view, there was another loud droning noise, the sounds faded and swelled, then two more gray blots appeared on the screen. Matt tilted the viewing angle to look high up, heard another buzz, discovered another blot, and swiftly tilted the viewing angle down. The nose of the ship, seen from behind, appeared on the screen, then slid out of range as the big detector grid swung face down. The screen went blank as Matt lowered the grid tightly into its well.

The dripping sound had stopped, but the droning noise remained. Matt took off the earphones, called Andanelli in for a quick summary of the situation, and checked the atmosphere. Everything looked fine, till Matt noticed the water content; he scowled, and ran another check. Still scowling, he called to Decker to get out a couple of suits.

Andanelli stayed in charge inside. Matt and Decker struggled into the bulky suits, then clambered into the air lock.

Once inside, Matt swung around, reached out for the inner door, and locked it shut. He turned around, saw the equipment locker, and spoke into the transceiver, "Hear me, Decker?"

"Yes, sir."

"Andy?"

"Here, sir."

Matt crossed to the equipment locker, and got out a coil of rope. He carefully fastened one end around a cleat at one side of the outer hatch, spun the lock wheel, and said, "Airlock screen working all right?"

"Yes, sir," said Andanelli. "I see you perfectly."

The lock wheel spun as far as it would go. Matt took hold of the door handle.

Carefully, he pulled the air lock open.

A thick gray blankness looked in at him.

He stood stock-still, then leaned out to look down.

He couldn't see the ground.

Matt got a heavy wrench from the locker, tied it on the end of the rope, leaned out, and lowered it like a seaman sounding for bottom. He faintly felt the rope touch, and raised it and lowered it several times to be sure. There was a peculiar springiness when the rope touched. Matt straightened up and turned to look around.

There was a hazy bulk beside him that he realized was Decker. The outlines of the space-lock door were fuzzy and vague. The whole inside of the air lock was gray and indistinct.

Matt said, "Andy?"

"Sir?"

"How's it look on the screen?"

"Like we're underwater off the mouth of a muddy river."

Matt leaned far out and slowly turned to look all around.

He saw grayness in all directions.

He pulled himself back inside, saw the murky blob that was the locker, crossed to it and took out a powerful handbeam. He went back to the hatch, aimed the beam out the door, and flipped the switch.

The light reached out, lit a length of fog, and seemed to come to an end several yards away. Matt swallowed, squinted, leaned out, and swung the beam down. He could make out a vague greenish color, but no details.

Matt said, "Decker."

"Sir," said Decker's voice from the earphones.

"I'm going to climb down there. Hold this light, and hand it down to me when I ask for it."

"Yes, sir."

Matt took hold of the rope, started to get out, and realized that the rope hung from the cleat in a supremely awkward position. The cleat was at the side of the hatch. The rope ran straight to the edge of the hatch, bent around the lip of metal, then dropped straight down. To climb down, it was necessary to somehow brace both legs against the curving sides of the ship, and hold the rope up and out to get hold of it. From this position, one might confidently expect to slip, drop, and get both hand jammed against the side of the ship.

Irritated, Matt stepped back and glanced above the door. If there were a cleat there, the rope would hang down where he could get hold of it.

There was no cleat there. He felt outside. The ship was perfectly smooth.

"I think," said Matt, "that I just found the little detail we were afraid of."

Andanelli's voice said, "I completely forgot that. Along with the hull, that's another failing of this boat. To hang the rope so a man can get out in a suit under gravity is something they overlooked."

"Where do they keep the ladder?"

"In the storage. It's collapsible. You want me to get it?"

"No. Wait." Matt studied the rope. Suppose he took it, looped it under and then over, the big hinge of the outer hatch. He was about to try it when Decker said, "Sir, I think I can do it."

"You see a way?"

"I think so, sir."

"Go ahead." Matt stepped back, frowning.

Decker went to the hatch, took the rope, passed it over his shoulder, climbed up in the hatchway, facing out, clumsily started to face in, got the rope down in his hands, and leaned far out, bracing himself with his feet—

Matt caught his breath. "Careful," he said, "the fog may have made it slippery."

"I'm all right," said Decker cheerfully. He leaned almost straight out into the gloom, and started to inch his way down.

Faintly, through the suit, Matt heard something go, "Z'z'z."

There was a sharp whack against his faceplate.

Decker made a sound like a man jabbed in the stomach. His suit twisted sidewise, jerked in toward the ship, slammed into it with a rough indrawing of breath in the earphones, then dropped out of sight.

Matt called sharply, "Decker!"

There was no answer. Andanelli said in a tense voice, "Want help?"

"Not yet. Have Rrriffuntarr suit up."

"Yes, sir."

Matt shone the light down, and saw nothing but grayness and a vague tinge of green. He gently tugged the rope. It came without resistance. Matt pulled in a loop, passed it over the open hatch, so it hung from the big hinge. He picked up the handbeam and discovered that it had no attachment to fasten it to his suit.

He yanked up the rope, untied the wrench, tied the handbeam on the end, and let it down. Carefully, he clambered up into the hatchway, every movement made clumsy by the suit, took hold of the rope, swung loose, started to slip, and got a loop of the rope around his leg. The rope slipped, and the bulge of the ship ground his hands. He tried to hold the loop against his ankle with his heel, pressed against the ship, and slid his hands down. Then he tried to slide down farther, and discovered that the rope had jammed tight around his leg.

Owing to the thick fog, Matt could not see how the rope was caught, and because of the bulky suit, he couldn't feel how it was caught. But if he didn't get it loose, he would eventually lose his grip and swing upside down, with a good chance of smashing his skull in the process.

There ensued a methodical but increasingly violent struggle, with buzzing things regularly whacking Matt on the faceplate, with his knuckles grinding against the ship, and every muscle aching, and which finally ended when he had almost given up, and then the rope came loose.

He dropped down the rope, his feet hit ground and slid greasily out in front of him.

Matt pulled in the light and snapped it on.

There was no sign of Decker.

Matt said, "I don't see Decker anywhere. What about Rrriffuntarr—in his suit yet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Just between the two of us, is his style of suit as bad for him as ours is for us?"

"From the looks of it, sir, it's worse."

"Well—Use the remote arms, and haul the rope in. Shut the hatch and disinfect the air lock."

"Sir, the ship that crash-landed didn't have any trouble with sickness."

"No, but what they reported and what we experienced so far bear no relationship whatever to each other. After you've got the air lock cleaned out, send Rrriffuntarr in with the ladder. Have him come down here with another light and about two hundred feet of rope."

"Yes, sir."

Matt felt the rope move, and remembered the light was still tied to the end of it. "Hold it," he said.

"Sir?" The rope stopped moving

"Just another little detail," said Matt, and untied the light. "O.K., pull in the rope."

The rope went up, Matt shone the light carefully around. He saw a foot thick layer of pale green plants that spiraled up in a mass of interlocked stalks. Near his arm, a thin spiral reached up out of sight in the fog. Matt shone the light on the spiraling stalks, then reached out. Between his fingers, the stalks felt as slippery as if they were greased.

Matt got very carefully to his feet, and shone the fuzzy beam of light around. He saw no sign of Decker. He thought that if Decker had slid in the greasy stalks, or stumbled off dazed, he should have left some track. But there was no track that Matt could see.

Matt said, "Decker?"

There was silence. Then in his earphones, a voice said weakly, "Sir?"

"Decker?"

"Yes, sir." The voice sounded more humble than injured. "I'm sorry, sir. I thought I could do it. But something banged me in the faceplate. It startled me, and I lost my balance."

"Oh. Well, don't worry about that. How do you feel?"

"A little beat-up, sir. But I don't think anything's broken."

"Good." Matt snapped on the light, and said, "Do you see any light, Decker."

"Light? No, sir, I don't."

"Look all round."

"No, sir, I... unh!"

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I just seem to be in the water, that's all. I can't seem to"—the voice had a trace of panic—"get up to dry ground. My feet slip—"

"Can you stay where you are?"

"Sir, in this fog, I can't tell. I seem to be sliding."

"Can you get hold of a handful of grass?"

"I—" There was grunt, then a sigh of relief. "Yes, sir. I've got it. But I'm not sure which way is toward land."

"Don't worry about it. The suit can stand a little water. Just stay where you are and keep a good grip on that grass. If it's like what there is around me, it's greasy."

"I stretched it out and wrapped three or four lengths around my fist."

"Good. How did you get down so far?"

"I don't know, sir. I was out cold."

"Well," said Matt, "it doesn't matter. We'll get you out when Rrriffuntarr—"

Something seemed to slide under Matt's feet. Both legs shot out in front of him. He tried to break his fall with one hand, and clung to the handbeam with the other.

He landed springily, and slid.

He slid as if he were shooting down a steep slope.

There was a splash.

His legs floated. Holding the light out of the water, Matt twisted and grabbed a handful of grass.

He knelt in the water, and shone the light down.

The grass under him was moving in long waves, as if trying to push him farther out to sea.

"Sir," came Decker's voice, "now I can see the light!" Matt shone the light around.

A hazy form was about a dozen feet way, bent over in the fog and water. Matt realized that this was Decker, clinging to his handful of grass.

The whole mass of grass seemed to be moving in slow waves running down the slope.

Andanelli's voice said, "Sir, Rrriffuntarr's ready to come out."

Matt said in Lithian, "Can you hear me, Rrriffuntarr?"

Rrriffuntarr's voice, weirdly distorted by the Lithian processes of suit manufacture, hissed, "Yess, but not clearly."

"Where are you?"

"Sstanding by the hatch."

"Have you got the ladder down?"

"No. I am trying to ssnap it open."

Matt scowled, "Andanelli."

"Sir, I showed him how it works."

Rrriffuntarr snarled, "The faceplate of thiss suit ssteams up."

The grass under Matt began to heave up and down violently, so that he sloshed back and forth in the water.

Matt grunted, "Take your time, Rrriffuntarr. It won't do any good to rush."

Rrriffuntarr let out of muffled noise like a string of firecrackers going off at a distance.

"Andy," said Matt, "see if you can't help him."

"Yes, sir. Rrriffuntarr, if you'll turn to one side, so I can see—"

A hissing noise came through the earphones.

Decker's voice said, "Sir, maybe we could work a little farther up. With the light, we can see a little. If we let go with other hand—"

"That's fine," said Matt. "With one hand, I hang onto the grass, with one hand I hold the handbeam, and with the other hand I reach out and take a new hold. You go ahead, if you want to. I intend to hang onto this light."

Andanelli began giving Rrriffuntarr detailed instructions in unfolding the ladder. This involved as many aggravations and delays as if Rrriffuntarr were blindfolded and Andanelli handcuffed.

The grass surged up and down, backwards, forwards, and sideways. Matt hung on grimly.

Rrriffuntarr let out a violent string of oaths.

Andanelli made soothing sounds and repeated his instructions.

Decker gasped, "Sir, where is this stuff trying to take us?"

"Z'z'z'z!" Something buzzed around, and whacked Matt's faceplate.

"Don't worry about that," said Matt. "Just hang on."

The buzzing faded.

"Ugh!" said Decker. "Yes, sir."

A lengthy stretch of time dragged by.

Rrriffuntarr swore. Andanelli groaned and repeated his instructions. Decker tried out loud to guess what lay out under the water where the grass was trying to sweep them. The buzzing whine droned around their heads and banged them in the faceplates. The grass relaxed as if to throw them off guard, and then surged violently. The water splashed, gurgled, and sloshed them back and forth. The thick gray fog seemed to grow steadily thicker.

The general's comment repeated itself in Matt's head: "The dangerous part will be getting there. Once you're there, everything should be comparatively simple."

Somewhere in the background, Matt could hear in the earphones the three Kraath starting to sing.

At length, Rrriffuntarr let out a hideous oath, and announced that the ladder was in place. "Now... what must I do to get to you?"

"Tie one end of your rope to the ship," said Matt. "Tie the other end around you. Climb down and stand ten feet or so away from the ship." He added dryly, "You'll get here fast enough."

Rrriffuntarr could be heard climbing down the ladder. There was a brief silence, then the sound of breath sharply expelled.

Matt snapped on his light.

A writhing figure shot toward them, trailing a rope. There was a mighty splash.

"Now," said Matt, "grab a handful of that grass, and work your way toward me."

Twenty minutes later, they were climbing the ladder back into the ship.

After a brief interval made agonizing by the noise of the Kraath singing, Matt sent the Kraath out with an extra length of rope, weapons, and a powerful light on a cable.

Rrriffuntarr climbed dripping wet out of the Lithian spacesuit, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Decker, who looked as if he had been thrown down a mile-long staircase in a barrel, immediately became curious about the defective Lithian suit. Signs of weariness vanished as he bent over the suit in intense concentration.

Matt checked to see that everything was under control, then lay down for a little rest. He shut his eyes, fell asleep, and someone was gently but persistently shaking him.

"Sir," said Andanelli, "we're in a mess."

Matt sat up. He felt sore, stiff, and drugged with fatigue. "Now what?" he said, and the words came out like a challenge to a duel.

Andanelli hesitated, "Well, sir... ah—" He held up a bottle. "We found this in the air lock, sir." Matt looked at a thing about the size of the first joint of a man's little finger. The thing was gray, was lying a pool of cloudy liquid, and had several broken filaments thrust up from what appeared to be a coat of thick bristly fuzz.

"Sir," said Andanelli, "I think that's what banged you and Decker on the faceplates."

Matt frowned.

Andanelli added, "I couldn't find any eyes on it at all." He said this in the apologetic tone of one who does not want to tell all his bad news till he sees how the first item is taken.

Matt looked at the thing wonderingly. Then realization hit him.

"I figure," said Andanelli carefully, "that it doesn't have eyes because... you know... like fish in an underground cave where it never gets light—"

Matt swung his feet to the deck and started for the control room.

Decker was on the floor, rows of neatly-arranged parts spread out around him.

"You think," said Matt, "the fog never lifts?"

"At least," said Andanelli cautiously, "not during the season when these things are out."

Matt glanced at all the work spread out around Decker. Matt realized he must have been asleep far longer than he had thought. "What about these bugs? Do you think they see like bats, with echoes, is that it?"

"Well... yes, sir, for one thing. And I've studied the UCF records we made when we came down. What looked like weathering on those bluffs is too regular for that. Sir, what if these things have a crowded colony of nests over there. Where the rocks weathered, they might eat in, and ... the echo from your faceplate maybe sounded more promising—"

Matt said sharply, "What are leading up to?"

Wordlessly, Andanelli handed Matt the outside audio receptor earphones. Matt raised them to his ears.

Z'z'z'z'Z'Z'Z'z'z'Z'Z'Z'Z'Z

The droning was like hives of swarming bees.

"It's even possible," said Andanelli, as if it were a matter of only academic interest, "that they build outer nests of light tough fibrous material, like hornets; and of course, if they nested in the UCF, that might explain the blurring."

Matt glanced at the screen, which was blank, and thought a moment. Andanelli must have called him for something more pressing that this. "Let's see: Hornets nest in low limbs of trees, and under the eaves of houses, bees nest in hollow—Is the outer door of the air lock open?" said Matt suddenly.

"Yes, sir," said Andanelli, poised like a man in a canoe, with the rapids roaring just ahead.

Matt said sharply, "Can't you close it?"

"No, sir. They've already built in there."

"What about the remote-control arms?"

"They won't move, sir."

"Are the Kraath still outside?"

"Yes, sir. I already tried to have them close it. The bugs drove them away."

"You mean, they sting through the suits?"

"No, sir. They squirt a corrosive liquid. It eats holes through the suits."

Matt stood perfectly still. "Where are the Kraath now?"

"Out in the water hanging onto the weeds with one hand."

"We can't have that air lock blocked off. Have you tried the disinfectant spray?"

"Yes, sir. They seem to have the nozzles sealed off."

Matt snapped on the air-lock view-screen. The screen was black, with an occasional flickering of light.

Matt visualized the situation, and stood wrestling with the alternatives.

Decker chose this moment to let out a triumphant yell. "I've got it!"

Andanelli looked at Decker severely.

"Sir," said Decker, turning around, "this train of little parts doesn't have enough free play. Sir, every time somewhere along the line it seizes." He hammered the steel deck beside it, "Vibration loosens it. Or, maybe if I—" Decker's eyes focused on the mechanism, and he stopped talking.

"Gone again," said Andanelli. "I've seen people who couldn't hold their minds on anything for five minutes, and I've seen people who kept their minds on something so long nothing else seemed to matter. But here we have example of the hop-toad mind with the bulldog grip."

"Let him work on it," said Matt. "Rrriffuntarr can work a lot better if his suit's fixed."

"Sir," said Andanelli hurriedly, and with signs of strain in his voice, "there's something else I think I ought to mention about Rrriffuntarr—"

"Now what?"

"Sir, Lithians are pretty enigmatic about some things, and so are their records. I've noticed Rrriffuntarr has seemed to eat quite a lot lately, and seemed to tire pretty fast in that suit... of course, it's a bum suit, but—Sir, I was on a ship once where one of the Lithians had cubs. Those cubs can pretty nearly take a ship apart in a single afternoon, and—"

Matt blinked, "Slow down a minute. What reason do we have—"

"Sir, it fits right in with everything else. And the only way I know to tell a Lithian male from a Lithian female is to ask another Lithian. Ask them direct and they take your head off. Sir, I can't forget that awful trip with those cubs—"

Matt looked at Andanelli the way one looks at a trusted associate who has, unfortunately, been exposed to a little too much nervous strain lately. "Well, Andy," said Matt, "let's not worry about that right now. We can figure that out later. Right now, let's get the Kraath inside."

Andanelli seemed to struggle to get hold of himself. "Yes, sir," he said finally, and relaxed a little. "But, sir, if we make a hole somewhere, the bugs will come in and make a nest out of the whole ship."

"The first thing to do," said Matt, "is to make sure everything that should be is strapped in place."

After checking the ship, warning Rrriffuntarr, telling the Kraath what he was going to do, and helping Decker put the spacesuit parts in labeled boxes, Matt slid into the control seat and snapped on the converters.

Slowly and gingerly, the ship lifted. The whine of the converters was lost in a heavy threatening buzz.

"The bugs," said Andanelli. "They don't want their nests moved."

Rrriffuntarr came in, eyes large and glittering, and fur on end.

Andanelli said in Lithian, "It's O.K. Just some bugs that have built their nests on the ship."

Rrriffuntarr silently raised one forepaw. This paw had a furry thumblike extension which was cupped against the main part of the paw. The claws of this thumb, and of the rest of the paw were slid out. Pinned by the claws was a fuzzy gray object about the size of the first joint of a man's little finger.

A thought that had been half-formed in Matt's mind suddenly became clear to him.

"Hang on!" he yelled.

He lifted the ship fast and smoothly. There was a warning buzz from outside that rose to a threatening drone.

Mat shifted the converter angle, and the ship slid forward.

The heavy drone rose to a piercing whine.

Matt, tensely calculating distances, heard his own voice say, "Did you plug the hole?"

"Yes," said Rrriffuntarr.

Andanelli said in a low tired voice, "There'll be others. If they can eat through rock, this hull won't stop them."

Matt slowed the forward motion of the ship, and shifted the converter angle. The ship slid sidewise.

Z'z'z'Z'Z'Z'Z

There was a purple blur. Whack! Rrriffuntarr hit the wall, and dropped to the floor holding up one forepaw. Andanelli picked up his bottle with bug inside, unscrewed the lid, and held it out.

Matt lowered the ship till he felt the resistance of the water.

Rrriffuntarr turned as a buzz approached from the rear of the ship

Whack!

Z'Z'Z'Z

Slam!

Rrriffuntarr growled angrily and unscrewed the lid of the bottle.

"Hang on!" said Matt.

From the rear of the ship came a droning buzz.

Matt shifted the angle of all the converters.

The ship began to spin on its axis.

One hour and forty minutes later, Sttongg, Klongk, and Battokk crawled dripping wet into the waterlogged air lock and tore out the soggy ruins of what looked like an enormous partly-finished wasp's nest.

Matt, Andanelli, Rrriffuntarr, and Decker, satisfied that they had plugged all the corroded holes in the ship's hull, helped the shivering Kraath back inside, then put Rrriffuntarr's suit together. All four went outside in the thick fog, and cleaned the dripping remnants of a big nest off the UCF housing.

Rrriffuntarr slipped on a soggy lump of the nest, and slid down the curve of the ship into the water. Matt had three holes in his suit by diehard defenders of the nest. Andanelli tripped over a long ropelike thing that trailed upward into the murk from the audio receptor housing. And Decker found so many interesting things to peer at in the fuzzy light of the handbeam that he was no use whatever to the other three.

By the time they all finally groped their way out of the fog back into the ship, and got ready to get back to work, Matt had almost forgotten what they were on the planet for.

Andanelli seemed to be in the same condition. "Let's see," he said groggily. "We have to scrape out a level spot, set up the receiver, and... let's see—Is that it?"

"And set up the communicator relay," said Matt. "It will take the signals from the satellite, and pass them down to the receiver. We can also send messages through it." He shook his head dazedly. "Assuming we don't wear ourselves out fighting fog, bugs, and other things you can't get a grip on. Since we hit this planet, nothing has worked out right."

"I could have told you that would happen," said Andanelli. "I always know that no expedition is going to work out right, regardless what it is, and I'm right better than half the time."

"Yes," said Matt, struggling to keep his eyes open, "but now what strikes me is that we can't work on the spiral grass, even if we chop it off. Too greasy. The J-bug will slide sidewise. The pratha can do it... I mean the Kraath, if they don't go into pratha. So we'll have to—"

Matt snapped himself upright, and saw Andanelli with his left eye shut and his right eye shutting.

Somewhere in the ship, there was a grating sound, like rats gnawing in the woodwork.

Somewhere, too, there was a faint hiss, as of gas escaping from un unlit burner in a laboratory.

Matt got up and swung his arms back and forth. He did not wake up, but felt even more heavy-limbed and sleepy.

He barely managed to keep his eyes open while he set the autopilot altitude control for five hundred feet.

He shut his eyes, thinking he had had a hard day, but he couldn't be this tired.

Something—He had to—

For an instant, everything went gray, as if a lead sheet had slid over his brain.

Matt sat upright, shivering, in a silence broken only by the hum of the converters, and distant grinding and hissing.

Something grated sharply.

There was a rushing splash, and the ship began to settle.

Matt stared at the instruments.

The ship, he realized vaguely, should be rising. He blinked at the altitude reading.

The ship was slowly settling.

He seemed to realize what had to be done, but did not exactly understand what it was. His mind felt as if it were made up of separate parts, each working of its own volition.

Slowly, like the arm of an automaton reaching out to perform its preset task, Matt's arm swung out, his hand struck the edge of the autopilot, drew back, and pressed upward against a switch. The switch resisted, then gave.

There was a click.

The converters whined.

There was a scream like a length of rusty wire drawn through a hole in a sheet of iron.

Matt's eyes shut.

He seemed to be inside a maze of gray rooms filled with drifting fog. Somewhere in one of these rooms, he had lost something, but he couldn't remember where. Now the water was rising, and the fog was growing thick. Someone was hammering on a bulkhead, and he recognized the general's voice, saying, "Hurry, Matt! Hurry! We haven't as much time as I thought. Hurry!" And Matt was trying to hurry as he sloshed from one room to another in the thickening fog, but he couldn't seem to... couldn't seem to—

Somewhere in the distance, an echoing voice was saying, "Once you get there, it will all be comparatively simple."

The voice faded in the boom of a more distant voice, and Matt seemed to lose his thoughts in the boom of this voice, and then he was not worried, about the general or anything else.

Matt woke up with a violent headache. The General Action alarm was clanging in his ears. Automatically he reached for his headset, and snapped on the screen.

The screen was blank.

Decker staggered past, his brow furrowed and his teeth clenched, and hauled himself up into the forward turret.

Matt swung the UCF out of its well.

On the screen, a blotchy view of the nose of the ship swung past. A seemingly endless wall of rock stretched out in front.

"Nose turret ready," said Decker. "Only, all I can see is fog."

Matt swung the UCF as the others reported in.

Below and well to one side, a huge black ship hung vertically, a pillar of pale flame raging from its tail section.

Matt jumped for the controls, then stopped.

Andanelli appeared at his elbow.

"Turret's useless," he said. "I can't even get the cover open."

Matt said sharply, "Decker, do you have anything new on the enemy's detectors?"

"Just the usual, sir. Extremely good in space, terrible in atmosphere. They can make out outlines against the sky, and vaguely distinguish land from water. But that's about all."

Matt squinted at the screen. The enemy ship was moving slowly sidewise across a low strip of land at the base of a bluff. It came almost to the end, swung slightly inland, and came back. When it came near the end there, it swung further inland and went back the other way.

A big airlock on the side of the ship swung open.

Matt reached for the controls.

A slim black cylinder shot out, and spun down around the ship in a fast spiral.

The air lock slammed shut.

The black cylinder swung back up, then down, then up. Gouts of pale flame washed over the huge ship from the flying cylinder.

The ship moved slightly inland and started back in the other direction, rockets blazing.

Matt and Andanelli stared at the screen.

"What in space—" said Andanelli.

The monster ship moved inland slightly and again started back on its course.

"Andy," said Matt, "what if we had this miserable planet in our back yard? Suppose we sent an expedition here, and it got fouled up in bugs, heaving grass, fog and heaven knows what else—what do you suppose we would do?"

"Send another expedition ten times as big."

"Sure, but how would we get rid of the grass, and how would we keep the ship from getting nested over and corroded though by the bugs?"

Andanelli stared at the screen, then nodded slowly. "Now I get it. They're burning the grass, and scorching the nests as fast as the bugs started to build them—But listen, are they over the place where we want to put the receiver?"

"No, but they're just across the water from it."

Andanelli stared at the huge black ship. "Well, this caps it. How can we do anything with them breathing down our necks?"

"Maybe," said Matt, "if we're very careful—"

The black ship opened a port. Three slim dark shapes followed each other out and splashed into the water. In a moment, there was a boiling of the water, a dull clap, and a ringing noise in Matt's ears. The Drake scraped against the bluff.

Andanelli sucked in his breath.

A thing like a huge set of jaws surrounded by slowly twisting fronds, came to the surface at one end of the strait. Slowly, sliding in toward the shore below, it sank out of sight.

"I don't mean to be a pessimist," said Andanelli, "but it seems to me we ought to set that receiver up somewhere else."

"How?" said Matt. "The communications satellite orbits so it hangs right over this spot. We're supposed to set up the relay on this bluff, and nowhere else. The receiver has to be down below, and in line of sight from the extension on the relay. It all sounds arbitrary, but we have to assume there's a good reason for it."

"Sir, how do we even know that satellite is still up there. What if our friends here detected it on the way down?"

"It was designed not to be detected," said Matt. He frowned, and reached for the controls. "But we'll have to find out. We'll set up the relay. If it works, we'll know the satellite is still there."

Very gently, he began to lift the ship.

Getting the relay—a bulky object camouflaged to look like a boulder—out the air lock and up onto the cliff, and without lifting the ship so far it might show against the sky on the enemy's screens, proved to be a tricky job. The ship had no equipment that could do the job without a lengthy delay. But the Kraath accomplished it by brute muscle power and total concentration on each step from the ship's hull, up the precarious edge of the bluff to its bare, sunlit top.

As Matt snaked the flat extension cable from the communicator to the edge of the cliff, he was glaringly conscious of the early morning sun on his back, and the scout ship hanging in full view just over the edge of the bluff. Down below, the fog lay like a sea, with another bluff rising up like an island a mile or so away. The fog between the two bluffs was almost black, its surface slowly undulating. In the distance, the fog was lighter gray, and seemed calm, with stray wisps rising from it here and there.

Matt took in this scenery at a glance. Decker started to get absorbed in it, and Matt immediately sent him to watch the screen. Andanelli hardly saw the scene at all. Rrriffuntarr looked warily around and dismissed it with a growl. The straining Kraath plainly had thought for nothing but their burden, and the ground they carried it over.

This ground was thin reddish dirt, with a few sparse plants, and low ridges of red rock showing through. The communicator relay was camouflaged as a dull-gray boulder, that might have fitted in almost anywhere without being noticed. But against the reddish background it stood out like a snowbank in the midst of a desert.

Matt and Andanelli were trying to find some place to sink the boulder into the ground. But the soil was thin, and underlain with rock.

They had no idea how soon the black ship might finish its work and come up out of the fog.

Unable to find any place where the relay was not glaringly obvious, they next tried to hide it by putting the reddish dirt on it in layers. The dirt immediately fell off.

"There's nothing like details," growled Andanelli, rubbing a fistful of dirt back and forth over the gray surface. "In headquarters, they don't think of things like this."

"They have their own troubles," said Matt abstractedly. It was now very plain to him that the rock should have had a rough surface. But it did not have a rough surface, and no amount of groaning would fix it.

Andanelli stopped rubbing a moment, and said dubiously, "What about paint?"

Matt frowned in thought, then glanced around. "Rrriffuntarr, go get a blanket and some water."

Rrriffuntarr streaked for the ship.

"If we use paint," said Matt, "we have the problem of getting the right shade and texture. This dirt is exactly right already."

Rrriffuntarr came back with a blanket and water. Matt and Andanelli found a shallow depression in the rock, worked the dirt there into mud, put the blanket in the mud, and walked back and forth on it till the blanket was soaked and plastered with mud. They put the blanket over the imitation boulder, lifted the boulder to put the edges under it, almost squashed their fingers in the process, stepped back to look at the boulder, and found that it looked exactly like a big fake rock wrapped up in a blanket soaked in mud.

Andanelli swore.

Matt studied the rock critically, shook his head, and checked the extension cable to the edge of the bluff. This, at least, they were able to hide.

Then they went back and did what they could to smudge out the worst of their tracks. The reddish dirt, however, seemed ideally designed to take impressions. The Kraath had left footprints that looked, in the slanting rays of the sun, like the tracks of a herd of elephants on their way through a mudhole.

Everyone was quiet and subdued as they got back into the ship.

Matt dropped the ship down into the thick fog, sent everyone but Andanelli to the turrets, and looked at the screen.

Down below, the monster ship still traveled methodically back and forth, blasting the vegetation. The cylinder, belching flame, spiraled about the big ship. The water of the strait had a boiling look. The huge pair of jaws with surrounding fronds was again visible, now lying out of water on the shelf where Matt was supposed to set up the receiver.

The two men stared at this scene, "Something tells me we'd better use the communicator and let them know back home."

He reached out to a small gray box bolted on the edge of the control panel.

Almost immediately, the communicator began to clack.

Matt and Andanelli got up and watched the following message unreel from the communicator:

HELLO DRAKE STP COME IN PLS DRAKE STP DRAKE HELLO HELLO URGENT DRAKE HELLO DRAKE COME IN PLEASE

"It looks," said Andanelli, "as if they might be just as bad off as we are."

With a sensation of foreboding, Matt pressed down the "Transmit" bar, and sent: TSF DRAKE SENDING STP WE READ YOU STP COME IN PLS

There was a short pause, then:

HELLO DRAKE WHERE ARE YOU NOW

Matt sent:

AT DESTINATION STP WHY ARE YOU CALLING

BECAUSE VITALLY IMPORTANT YOU SET UP RCVR WITH ALL POSSIBLE SPEED STP HAVE INFO ENEMY HAS DEVICE SIMILAR TO OURS STP THIS DEVICE EVIDENTLY MORE RIGID WITH RANGE AND LIMITED ANGLE ADJUSTMENT STP BUT INTELLIGENCE EVALUATIONS INDICATE PLANET WHERE WE PLAN TO SET UP RCVR IS INTENDED FOR USE AS ENEMY FINAL TERMINUS STP YOU MUST SET OURS UP BEFORE THEY SET UP THEIRS STP DO YOU HAVE RCVR SET UP STP WE ARE READY TO COME THROUGH

Matt read this dully, and sent:

WE DO NOT HAVE RECEIVER SET UP YET.

SET IT UP IMMEDIATELY

THERE ARE OBSTACLES

OBSTACLES DO NOT MATTER STP TIME IS VITAL STP EXISTENCE OF HUMAN RACE RESTS ON YOUR INSTANT READINESS TO OBEY ORDERS STP AND OBEY THEM REGARDLESS FATIGUE DANGER OR DIFFICULTIES STP IS THIS UNDERSTOOD STP REPLY IMMEDIATELY

Andanelli groaned. Matt swallowed hard and sent:

I WILL DO MY BEST TO OBEY ORDERS WITHOUT HESITATION REGARDLESS FATIGUE OR DANGER SO LONG AS I HAVE STRENGTH TO DO SO

There was a short pause, then the printer clacked:

YOUR ATTITUDE HIGHLY COMMENDED STP BUT TIME IS ABSOLUTELY VITAL STP WHAT ARE DIFFICULTIES YOU SPEAK OF

ENEMY IS ALREADY HERE AND IN CLOSE RANGE STP OUR POSITION AND DENSE FOG CONCEAL US BUT UCF ENABLES US TO SEE ENEMY STP LOCAL LIFE FORMS ON SHELF WERE WE ARE TO SET UP RCVR APPEAR SUSCEPTIBLE ONLY TO MOST VIOLENT MEASURES STP VIOLENT MEASURES CANNOT BE USED WITHOUT ALERTING ENEMY JUST ACROSS NARROW STRIP OF WATER STP CAN WE SET UP RCVR ON TOP OF BLUFF

There was a long pause, then:

GRAVITIC CIRCUIT CONSIDERATIONS ARE INVOLVED IN LOCATION OF RCVR STP RCVR MUST BE LOCATED FAR BELOW RPT FAR BELOW RELAY STP THIS COULD HAVE BEEN SET UP DIFFERENTLY BUT CANNOT BE CHANGED NOW

Matt frowned, and sent:

CAN COUNTERCURRENT CONVERTERS BE USED TO SIMULATE GRAVITATIONAL FIELD REQUIRED

NO BECAUSE CURVATURE OF COUNTERCURRENT FIELD IS TOO GREAT AND WOULD CREATE DISTORTION

CAN WE GO ELSEWHERE

YES BUT ONLY IF YOU MOVE SATELLITE AND FIND HEIGHT RELATIONSHIP SIMILAR TO PLACE WHERE YOU ARE NOW STP YOU MUST NOTIFY US AND WE WILL TEST TRANSMISSION TILL SATISFACTORY

"That," said Andanelli, "might be the only way to do it. We'll have to creep around the cliff, get out of detector range—"

Matt tapped out:

HIGHLY DANGEROUS TO ATTEMPT TO REACH SATELLITE OWING TO HOLING PITTING AND CORROSIVE WEAKENING OF HULL BY LOCAL FORMS OF LIFE

"I forgot that," said Andanelli.

"We'd have remembered it," said Matt, "once the air started whistling out."

The communicator clacked:

INFORMATION HERE INDICATES NO SUCH FORMS OF LIFE ON PLANET AS YOU IMPLY STP STATE IMMEDIATELY AND BRIEFLY ALLOWING ONE SENTENCE EACH DESCRIBE THE APPEARANCE AND CHARACTERISTICS OF THESE LIFE FORMS

Andanelli swore:

Matt drew in a deep breath, glanced at a corner of the room for an instant, then tapped out:

THERE ARE THREE LIFE FORMS WHICH LIVE AT THE BASE OF THE BLUFF OR IN THE STRAIT NEARBY STP ONE IS AN EYELESS NESTING INSECT LIVING AT THE BASE OF THE BLUFF AND CAPABLE OF SECRETING A HIGHLY CORROSIVE LIQUID STP

Matt was about to add that this insect had built its huge nest in the air lock, but realized that he was supposed to give his description in one sentence. Scowling he went on:

SECOND IS A GRAY SPIRAL INTERLOCKING GRASS WHICH MOVES IN WAVELIKE MOTION AND SEEKS TO THRUST OBJECTS INTO THE WATER AND SUCCEEDED IN DOING SO TO NO LESS THAN SIX MEMBERS OF THIS SHIP'S COMPLEMENT INCLUDING THREE WHO WERE ATTEMPTING TO REMOVE A LARGE NEST OF INSECTS FROM THE AIR LOCK STP

Now that Matt had tapped this out it was sent and he could not unsend it. Looking at it, Matt was struck by its wordiness and seemingly defensive tone. But he was required to condense all the facts into one sentence and do it without delay. He went on:

THIRD IS A FORM OF LIFE SEEN ONLY ON UCF AND WHICH APPEARS TO CONSIST OF AN ENORMOUS SET OF JAWS SURROUNDED BY A FRINGE OF TENTACLES

Matt hesitated, looked at this uncertainly. The communicator shoved his message up and printed:

WHO IS SENDING

Matt tapped out his name, rank, and serial number.

With no hesitation whatever, the communicator printed:

COLONEL STEPHEN MATT IS HEREBY REMOVED AS COMMANDING OFFICER TSF DRAKE AND PLACED UNDER ARREST STP MAJOR JAMES J ANDANELLI IS HEREBY PLACED IN COMMAND TSF DRAKE WITH FULL AUTHORITY TO TAKE WHATEVER ACTION OF ANY KIND IS NECESSARY TO SET UP RECEIVER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE

Andanelli, his face dead white and his eyes glittering, hit the "Transmit" bar, knocked the preceding message up two spaces, and rapped out:

ANDANELLI SENDING STP DO YOU READ ME

WE READ YOU STP COME IN ANDANELLI

With a look of intense concentration, Andanelli slowly tapped out:

SCOUT SHIP TSF DRAKE NOW WITHIN CLOSE RANGE ENEMY CLASS III CRUISER STP NO ENEMY CLASS III CRUISER EVER KNOWN TO BE SERIOUSLY DAMAGED BY LIGHT ARMAMENT OF SCOUT SHIP STP SITUATION HERE COMPLEX BEYOND ANYTHING CAPABLE OF BEING BRIEFLY REPORTED TO YOU STP EVERYTHING SO FAR REPORTED TRUE BUT GROSSLY UNDERSTATED BECAUSE OF NEED FOR BREVITY STP MY OPINION IS ONLY A MIND CAPABLE OF APPROACHING THIS PROBLEM INDIRECTLY BUT WITH FULL APPRECIATION ALL FACTORS HAS ANY CHANCE OF SUCCESS STP PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE SHOWS ME PLAINLY THAT YOUR ORIGINAL CHOICE OF COMMANDER WAS AND IS STILL ABSOLUTELY CORRECT STP I THEREFORE USE FULL AUTHORITY DELEGATED ME TO TAKE NECESSARY ACTION OF REPLACING IN COMMAND COLONEL STEPHEN MATT STP THIS ACTION EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY STP IF THIS ACTION COUNTERMANDED BY HIGHER AUTHORITY I WILL WITHOUT HESITATION IMMEDIATELY ATTACK ENEMY CRUISER

Andanelli knocked the message up two spaces, and waited, his eyes narrowed.

Matt, standing perfectly still, nevertheless had the sensation that the room was slowly turning around him.

The communicator sat unmoving as if, far away at the other end of the chain of command, nobody dared touch his finger to a key for fear of upsetting the delicate balance.

After a long delay, the communicator slowly and gingerly clacked out a message:

YOUR ACTION APPROVED STP COLONEL STEPHEN MATT REINSTATED RPT REINSTATED STP INADVISABLE ATTACK ENEMY CRUISER STP ADVISE GREATEST CAUTION STP REPLY AT ONCE

Andanelli stepped back from the communicator with a look of grim satisfaction. He glanced at Matt, grinned, and bowed, "After you, sir."

The first glimmering of an idea had just come to Matt. He wanted to think, not pass messages back and forth.

The communicator clacked:

COME IN PLEASE

Matt stepped forward, still thinking.

HELLO DRAKE COME IN PLEASE

Matt stopped in front of the communicator, his chin in his hand and his eyes half shut. He almost had it, and when it became clear, he didn't want to lose it.

DRAKE HELLO HELLO PLEASE COME IN DRAKE

Andanelli said savagely, "Good. Let them worry for a while."

Matt could see the idea in all its connections. Whether it would work, he didn't know. But he had it.

DRAKE DRAKE ARE YOU THERE DRAKE DO YOU READ US PLEASE COME IN

Matt hit the "Transmit" bar:

MATT SENDING

There was another pause as the people on the other end considered that they were now talking with the man they had just dismissed, who had been reinstated against their will, and who, it now appeared, very possibly had right on his side. For some time, nothing came from the communicator, then:

DO WHAT YOU THINK BEST MATT STP WE WILL GIVE YOU ALL HELP AND INFORMATION WE CAN

Matt thought a moment, then sent:

IS CASING OF RECEIVER VITAL TO ITS OPERATION

NO STP ITS ONLY FUNCTION IS TO PROTECT INTERNAL MECHANISM

MUST IT NECESSARILY BE PLACED ABSOLUTELY LEVEL

YES THIS AMOUNTS TO ITS BEING CORRECTLY POSITIONED GRAVITICALLY STP IS NOT LEVEL IT CANNOT FUNCTION

COULD IT BE BRACED UPON OR SUSPENDED FROM THE DRAKE RATHER THAN SET UP ON THE GROUND

NO BECAUSE INDUCED CURRENTS IN CONVERTER OR DRAKE WOULD CAUSE GRAVITIC FIELD DISTORTION

WOULD PRESENCE OF ORGANIC MATTER WITHIN OPEN FRAME OF RCVR CAUSE TROUBLE

NOT IF IT CAN BE BROKEN LOOSE WITHOUT DAMAGING RCVR STP ACTION OF RCVR WOULD THRUST EVERYTHING WITHIN OUT AS SOON AS IT BEGAN TO OPERATE

CAN YOU SEND SOMETHING THROUGH BIG ENOUGH TO FINISH OFF ENEMY CRUISER WITHOUT DELAY STP CAN THIS HAVE SPARE RCVR RPT SPARE RCVR ON BOARD IN CASE FIRST RCVR DAMAGED BY ENEMY ACTION

There was a short delay, then:

YES WE CAN DO THIS

Matt tapped out:

THANK YOU STP THAT IS ALL FOR NOW

OK DRAKE WE WILL BE RIGHT HERE IF YOU WANT US STP TELL US WHEN WE CAN COME THROUGH

The fog had faded into blackness and lighted to dark gray again before Matt and Andanelli were satisfied that they had everything ready. By this time, the huge set of jaws had slid back into the water, and the enemy cruiser had finished its trips over the strip of land across the strait, had swung horizontally and blasted the cliffs there, had landed and disgorged an immense quantity of mechanical equipment which speedily and methodically leveled off the strip of land and started to climb back into the ship.

"Nothing like plenty of power," said Andanelli enviously.

"Look," said Matt.

Several small shadowy forms were coming out of the black ship, carrying long thick pipes, and sizable globes.

"O.K." said Matt. "Here we go."

He dropped the ship slowly down the side of the bluff.

On the screen the shadowy figures methodically began to assemble their device.

A buzzing sounded from the audio receptor phones. The buzzing rose to a drone.

Matt swung the UCF into its well.

Watching his instruments, he slowly swung the nose of the ship ninety degrees out from the bluff. He hung there a moment, then slid the ship forward.

The buzzing was continuous, a droning so loud as to seem almost like thunder.

"We must have been right in their nests," said Andanelli, awed.

Matt lowered the ship gently, holding his mind away from the thought of the huge black ship towering just across the narrow water.

Beneath the steady buzz, the converters gave their high-pitched whine.

Matt rotated the ship one-quarter turn right.

Carefully, he lowered the ship.

The buzz stayed right with them, and rose to a threatening drone.

The ship settled, then came to a stop.

In the earphones, Decker said, "Water popped the plugs out of the lower two holes."

Matt increased the converter current.

"And the next two. The plate looks as if it might buckle."

The droning rose to a whine.

Carefully, Matt slid the ship forward. Ahead of him, he seemed to see the black ship, towering ever higher. Below him, he could almost feel the thing they had seen on the screen, lying under the surface, and nursing its bruises. As the Drake moved slowly across the strait Matt realized that his mind was split, part of it on calculations and movements that he performed almost mechanically, and part of it in intense and silent prayer.

Decker said, "They're eating through already. I've patched that one. But I see a place I can't get to."

"Do your best," said Matt. He swung the UCF, now half underwater, out of its well.

The half of the screen clear of the water showed him he was almost ashore, and closer to the towering black ship than he had intended. In front of him rose a tall unfinished frame, with shadowy figures standing dead still around it. Then the screen filled rapidly with gray blotches.

"Now," said Matt.

He swung the ship smoothly up and forward, the UCF swinging clear of the water, the ship turning on its axis. He lowered the ship. "Let go the coverings."

"Yes, sir."

The ship slid forward. There was a grating noise.

From the black ship, three long slim shapes shot out into the water.

The shadowy figures were running from the half-finished frame, beating their arms frantically about their heads.

The Drake was now level.

"Let go the receiver."

"Yes, sir. It's down."

From the direction of the water, there was a heavy dull thud.

Matt swung the UCF around. He saw the receiver's big cubical frame standing on the level ground by the Drake. He glanced at his control board. A light was flashing on and off, on and off, then it blinked out entirely. The receiver was level.

"Thank God," he breathed, and threw the ship low and fast across the flat layer of concrete toward the far wall of the bluff. He reversed the converters, stopped the ship, jumped up and jabbed the communicator.

COME THROUGH WE ARE READY COME THROUGH

There was a glare like the sun reflected blindingly from the water.

The black ship stood on a pillar of flame.

A gigantic rim hung in the air beside it.

The screen lit in a blaze of white; the figures blurred in distortion and were gone. A spot on the inner wall of the Drake glowed dull red.

There was a ringing clap that seemed to explode inside of Matt's head.

The screen oscillated wildly, then cleared.

The black ship was a shell wilting like a hollow candle before the open door of a furnace.

The huge rim hung unmoved.

Matt swung the UCF to see what had happened to the receiver. But the receiver was gone.

The communicator clacked:

ARE YOU O.K. DRAKE

Matt rapped out:

FINE STP BUT WHERE IS RCVR

VAPORIZED STP WE HAVE SPARE ON BOARD STP IS ATMOSPHERE O.K.

ATMOSPHERE MAY BE BUT THICK FOG CUTS VISIBILITY STP FLYING BUGS NAVIGATE THIS FOG WITHOUT DIFFICULTY STP THESE BUGS SQUIRT CORROSIVE LIQUID THAT EATS THROUGH SUITS AND HULL OF SHIP STP THEY BUILD HUGE NESTS IN SHIP'S AIR LOCK AND ON PROJECTIONS OF SHIP STP ALSO IN UCF GRID THUS DISRUPTING RECEPTION

After a moment, the answer came;

NOT CONCERNED FOG OR LOCAL LIFE FORMS STP STAND AWAY BELOW STP MUST DROP OVERHEATED DRIVE UNIT

Matt swung the Drake up and farther inland. On the screen, which Matt realized with a start now functioned perfectly, there fell from the huge Terran ship a glowing cylinder with a length of pipe thrust off-center out of one end. This glowing cylinder hit the water, sent up a splash, and sank out of sight.

Matt turned away as a buzz came toward him from the rear of the ship.

The communicator clacked twice and stopped short.

Matt glanced toward the communicator, then a swift movement caught his eye. He whirled back to the screen.

On the screen, a huge set of jaws rose straight up out of the water and clamped on the giant rim.

Matt sprang to the communicator to see if an order had been sent him. Printed there were two letters:

WH

z'z'z'Z'Z'Z'Z'z'z

"Sir," cried Decker, "spin the ship one-eighty degrees so I can get at the hole. They're coming in by the dozens!"

Matt jumped to the controls.

The next hour passed in chaos. Matt spun the ship. Decker plugged the holes. Rrriffuntarr snatched the buzzing insects out of the air. The three Kraath splattered the bugs against the walls of the ship. One of the Kraath hit so hard he knocked out a fist-sized section of corroded wall, and the bugs came through in hundreds. Matt sent the ship streaking for the open sea; and dove. Something gently caught the ship and there was a munching crunching sound. Matt slammed the ship skyward then dropped it fast. On the viewscreen there hung a big black ship that had just been destroyed. Matt dove for the communicator and found there about a dozen bugs that had set up housekeeping in a small nest they were ready to defend to the death. Matt hit the keys and sent:

LOOK OUT ENEMY SHIP APPRO

z'z'z'z'Z'Z'Z

z'z'Z'Z

z'z'Z'Z

Z'Z'Z'Z'Z

His whole body seemed to dissolve in an agony of fire.

Matt came to in the flagship's hospital ward and didn't get out for three weeks.

Once out, he was ordered to the Commanding General's office, and found himself saluting the general who had given him his orders at the start.

The general had one leg thrust out stiffly on a hassock, his left arm in a sling, and a bandaged forehead. He looked at Matt, and growled, "The next time you send me a report, I will believe it."

"I should have put it more clearly, sir. But we were a little shaken up."

"Having been out in that fog," said the general, "and burned by the bugs, and rattled around like dice in a cup when we dropped that drive unit, I can guess what it was like. Since then, I've had two weather stations blown off the top of that bluff by freak winds, a whole ship's crew anaesthetized and almost eaten alive by something that gnaws through the hull of a ship and pumps in gas, and thousands of man-hours lost thanks to that unending fog. What a place! You can't tell where water, air, or land end. It's not a beachhead; it's a foghead."

"Sir, has anyone found out why there's so much fog?"

"They've made noises about it," said the general. "These islands sit practically at the boundary of a warm ocean current flowing north, and a cold current flowing south. I've also been told, part of the trouble comes from the springy plants, that reproduce by thrusting up tall stalks with puffy growths on top; these puffs burst and let out clouds of tiny seed when they're disturbed. The more they're disturbed, the more stalks they grow, the more puffs burst, and the more drifting clouds of fine seed come out. They've been disturbed a lot lately.

"In fact, three of our ships are hung up because some boob got the idea it would ease matters for the air purifiers if they used planetary air instead of recycling. They've got plants sprouting out of the filters, and taking root in any dark spot where there's a stray speck of dust. Your ship practically had to be gone over with a blowtorch to sterilize it. And that reminds me." He leaned forward to snap on the intercom.

"How's that final check coming on Colonel Matt's ship?"

"About done, sir."

"Good. Let me know when you're through."

The general leaned back. "Despite the exasperation of this place, things have worked out about as we hoped. But it was close. How did you manage to set up that receiver right under the enemy's nose?"

"Well," said Matt, "they generally rely on a visual system in atmosphere. That was useless here, and their screens are specialized for space. Still, their audio receptors might have picked up our countercurrents. We eased down the bluff, and hung there while the bugs started to nest. We tilted the ship, so the hatch, where the receiver was held on, was out of water. The UCF was half under, so we could see with that part when we swung up to come out.

"The bugs, meanwhile, buzzed and droned, and masked the countercurrents. By the time we got across they were wet and mad, and went for the technicians. We tilted the ship to swing the receiver into position, and let go a cover we had over the base frame to keep the bugs from nesting and throwing the receiver off level. We moved ahead and let down the receiver. We had to use the air lock remote arms to do it, and that meant we had to let the bugs start to get settled, but we had to get across before they either corroded through the ship, or blocked the arms. Once we had the receiver set up, we got out of there, and you came through."

The general leaned back and nodded. "And just as we thought we had everything taken care of, we almost got shaken to pieces. That's a peculiar thing about war or exploration. In either one, you have to operate in a fog of uncertainties. When you get involved in both together—"

A buzzer sounded, and the general snapped on the intercom. A voice said, "Sir, Colonel Matt's ship is ready."

"Fine." The general beamed at Matt, and said, "Colonel, I am going to forestall any attempt on your part to volunteer for further service..."

Matt, who hadn't even thought of volunteering, tried to look disappointed.

"...by sending," the general continued, "you and your crew back to Base immediately. This exploit has entirely changed the balance of the war. You and your men have been cited for extraordinary heroism, have been recommended for immediate promotion, and can expect to be cheered, lionized, goggled at, and sent around on so many speaking tours you'll wish you'd never joined the service. Personally, I want to thank you for getting that receiver up, and I wish you a good trip home, and the best of luck."

"Thank you, sir. I wish you the best of luck."

They exchanged salutes.

Matt went back to the ship and found Andanelli peering though a bandaged left eye into the plot viewer. "Some course we got," he said. "The place is lousy with enemy raiders. We've got to practically hop from frying pan to frying pan till we get back to Station VI. Do you realize they've only got a one-way line between here and VI? They're running the war on a shoestring."

"Just so long as they win it," said Matt. "By the way, we were in the hospital a long time. Did the Kraath—"

Andanelli nodded cheerfully. "They're over their pratha. We don't have that to worry about."

The trip back was fast and hair-raising at the breaks in and out of subspace. Between breaks, the first part of the trip was so restful that Andanelli shed his cynicism long enough to remark, "This is the life. At this rate we'll be home in no time."

Matt was leaning back in the control seat, contemplating the back pay piled up for him at Base.

"We could," said Matt, "still get smeared at a break point, but it's a relief to be able to get a little rest between times."

Decker came in carrying a small black book, and wearing a puzzled expression.

"Sir," he said, "here's a funny thing. In here, it says Lithians never have more than two cubs at a time. But—"

Matt's feet hit the deck with a slam.

Andanelli froze.

Into the control room padded three purple balls of fluff and claws, their tails waving.

One carried a shoe, which it wrenched and shook, as if to break its back.

One carried a sock, shredded almost beyond recognition.

One carried nothing, and looked all around with hungry glittering eyes.

From the corridor came the rumbling purr of a big Lithian, claws clacking on the steel deck as it indulgently followed the cubs.

From the far end of the ship came the roar of an indignant Kraath.

"Who stole my shoe?"

It was a long trip home.

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Framed