ldings, too."

"We don't know much about this place, Orne. And unless you bring them
into the fold, there'll be nothing but ashes for our archaeologists to
pick over."

"Seems a dirty shame."

"I agree, but--"

The call bell jangled.

* * * * *

Stetson's voice sounded tired: "Yeah, Hal?"

"That mob's only about five kilometers out, Stet. We've got Orne's gear
outside in the disguised air sled."

"We'll be right down."

"Why a disguised sled?" asked Orne.

"If they think it's a ground buggy, they might get careless when you
most need an advantage. We could always scoop you out of the air, you
know."

"What're my chances on this one, Stet?"

Stetson shrugged. "I'm afraid they're slim. These goons probably have
the _Delphinus_, and they want you just long enough to get your
equipment and everything you know."

"Rough as that, eh?"

"According to our best guess. If you're not out in five days, we blast."

Orne cleared his throat.

"Want out?" asked Stetson.

"No."

"Use the _back-door_ rule, son. Always leave yourself a way out. Now ...
let's check that equipment the surgeons put in your neck." Stetson put a
hand to his throat. His mouth remained closed, but there was a
surf-hissing voice in Orne's ears: "You read me?"

"Sure. I can--"

"No!" hissed the voice. "Touch the mike contact. Keep your mouth closed.
Just use your speaking muscles without speaking."

Orne obeyed.

"O.K.," said Stetson. "You come in loud and clear."

"I ought to. I'm right on top of you!"

"There'll be a relay ship over you all the time," said Stetson. "Now ...
when you're not touching that mike contact this rig'll still feed us
what you say ... and everything that goes on around you, too. We'll
monitor everything. Got that?"

"Yes."

Stetson held out his right hand. "Good luck. I meant that about diving
in for you. Just say the word."

"I know the word, too," said Orne. "HELP!"

* * * * *

Gray mud floor and gloomy aisles between monstrous bluish tree
trunks--that was the jungle. Only the barest weak glimmering of sunlight
penetrated to the mud. The disguised sled--its para-grav units turned
off--lurched and skidded around buttress roots. Its headlights swung in
wild arcs across the trunks and down to the mud. Aerial creepers--great
looping vines of them--swung down from the towering forest ceiling. A
steady drip of condensation spattered the win