e lighted windows of the Administration shack. Sometimes, he
mused, a man can get so close to something that he can't see the
obvious. He stared at the samples case again. Sometimes stupidity works
both ways--and sometimes what looks like stupidity may really be
something far more deadly.

He licked his lips and flipped the telephone-talker switch. After a
misconnection or two he got Control Tower. Control Tower said yes, they
had a small exploratory scooter on hand. Yes, it could be controlled on
a beam and fitted with cameras. But of course it was special equipment,
emergency use only--

He cut them off and buzzed Simpson excitedly. "Cancel all I said--about
leaving. I mean. Change of plan. Something's come up. No, don't order
anything--but get one of those natives that can understand your
whistling and give him the word."

Simpson bellowed over the wire. "What word? What do you think you're
doing?"

"I may just be saving our skins--we won't know for a while. But however
you manage it, tell them we're definitely _not leaving Venus_. Tell them
they're all fired--we don't want them around any more. The Installation
is off limits to them from here on in. And tell them we've devised a way
to mine the lode without them--got that? Tell them the equipment will be
arriving as soon as we can bring it down from the transport."

"Oh, now look--"

"You want me to repeat it?"

Simpson sighed. "All right. Fine. I'll tell them. Then what?"

"Then just don't bother me for a while. I'm going to be busy. Watching
TV."

An hour later Kielland was in Control Tower, watching the pale screen as
the little remote-controlled explorer circled the installation. Three TV
cameras were in operation as he settled down behind the screen. He told
Sparks what he wanted to do, and the ship whizzed off in the direction
the Mud-pup raiders had taken.

At first, there was nothing but dreary mud flats sliding past the
cameras' watchful eyes. Then they picked up a flicker of movement, and
the ship circled in lower for a better view. It was a group of
natives--a large group. There must have been fifty of them working
busily in the mud, five miles away from the Piper Installation. They
didn't look so carefree and happy-go-lucky now. They looked very much
like desperately busy Mud-pups with a job on their hands, and they were
so absorbed they didn't even see the small craft circling above them.

They worked in teams. Some were diving with small