g craft down here for me. The sooner the better."

Simpson's face lit up in pathetic eagerness. "You mean we're going to
_leave_?"

"That's what I mean."

"The company's not going to like it--"

"The company ought to welcome us home with open arms," Kielland snarled.
"They should shower us with kisses. They should do somersaults for joy
that I'm not going to let them sink another half billion into the mud
out here. They took a gamble and got cleaned, that's all. They'd be as
stupid as your pals here if they kept coming back for more." He pulled
on his waders, brushing penitent Mud-pups aside as he started for the
door. "Send the natives back to their burrows or whatever they live in
and get ready to close down. _I've_ got to figure out some way to make a
report to the Board that won't get us all fired."

He slammed out the door and started across to his quarters, waders going
splat-splat in the mud. Half a dozen Mud-pups were following him. They
seemed extraordinarily exuberant as they went diving and splashing in
the mud. Kielland turned and roared at them, shaking his fist. They
stopped short, then slunk off with their tails between their legs.

But even at that, their squeaking sounded strangely like laughter to
Kielland....

In his quarters the light was so dim that he almost had his waders off
before he saw the upheaval. The little room was splattered from top to
bottom with mud. His bunk was coated with slime; the walls dripped
blue-gray goo. Across the room his wardrobe doors hung open as three
muddy creatures rooted industriously in the leather case on the floor.

Kielland let out a howl and threw himself across the room. _His samples
case!_ The Mud-pups scattered, squealing. Their hands were filled with
capsules, and their muzzles were dripping with white powder. Two went
between Kielland's legs and through the door. The third dove for the
window with Kielland after him. The company man's hand closed on a
slippery tail, and he fell headlong across the muddy bed as the culprit
literally slipped through his fingers.

He sat up, wiping mud from his hair and surveying the damage. Bottles
and boxes of medicaments were scattered all over the floor of the
wardrobe, covered with mud but unopened. Only one large box had been
torn apart, its contents ravaged.

Kielland stared at it as things began clicking into place in his mind.
He walked to the door, stared out across the steaming gloomy mud flats
toward th