“I think you know,” he said fretfully, “that as a senior Colonial Survey officer, I have authority to give any orders needed for my work. I give one now. I want to see the landing grid—if it is still standing. I take it that it didn’t fall down?”

Redfeather flushed beneath the bronze pigment of his skin. It would be hard to offend a steelman more than to suggest that his work did not stand up.

“I assure you,” he said politely, “that it did not fall down.”

“Your estimate of its degree of completion?”

“Eighty per cent,” said Redfeather formally.

“You’ve stopped work on it?”

“Work on it has been stopped,” agreed the Indian.

“Even though the colony can receive no more supplies until it is completed?”

“Just so,” said Redfeather without expression.

“Then I issue a formal order that I be taken to the landing-grid site immediately,” said Bordman angrily. “I want to see what sort of incompetence[19] is responsible! Will you arrange it—at once?”

[19]

Redfeather said in a completely emotionless voice:

“You want to see the site of the landing grid. Very good. Immediately.”

He turned and walked out into the incredible, blinding sunshine. Bordman blinked at the momentary blast of light, and then began to pace up and down the office. He fumed. He was still ashamed of his collapse from the heat during the travel from the landed rocket-boat to the colony. Therefore he was touchy and irritable. But the order he had given was strictly justifiable.

He heard a small noise. He whirled. Dr. Chuka, huge and black and spectacled, rocked back and forth in his seat, suppressing laughter.

“Now, what the devil does that mean?” demanded Bordman suspiciously. “It certainly isn’t ridiculous to ask to see the structure on which the life of the colony finally depends!”

“Not ridiculous,” said Dr. Chuka. “It’s—hilarious!”

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