"What's the use?" said Christina, turning away. "It was a faint hope anyway. Dying men don't draw obliging maps for you." She sat down on the edge of a bunk and put her head in her hands. "We might as well give up. You know that." One of the two Lazarites who had done the latent probe on Hyrst said with hollow hopefulness, "Perhaps if we let him rest a while and then go over it again—" "Let me up out of here," said Hyrst, still groggy with the drug. "I want Vernon." "I'll help you get him," said Shearing, "if you'll tell me what MacDonald meant when he said nobody will ever get it unless I show them how." "How the devil do I know?" Hyrst tugged at the straps, raging. "Let me up." "But you knew MacDonald well. You worked with him and beside him for years." "Does that tell me where he hid the Titanite? Don't be an ass, Shearing. Let me up." "But," said Shearing equably, "he didn't say where. He said how." "Isn't that the same thing?" "Is it? Listen. Nobody will ever get it unless I show them where. Nobody will ever get it unless I show them how." Hyrst stopped fighting the straps. He began to frown. Christina lifted her head again. She did not say anything. The two Lazarites who had done the probe stood still and held their breath. Shearing's mind touched Hyrst's stroking it as with soothing fingers. "Let's think about that for a minute. Let your thoughts move freely. MacDonald was an engineer. The engineer. Of the four, he alone knew every inch of the physical set-up of the refinery. So?" "Yes. That's right. But that doesn't say where—Wait a minute, though. If he'd just shoved it in a crack somewhere in the mountains, he'd know a detector might find it, more easily than before it was dug. He'd have put it some where deep, deeper than he could possibly dig. Maybe in an abandoned mine?" "No place," said Shearing, "is too deep for us to probe. We've examined every abandoned mine on that side of Titan. And it doesn't fit, anyway. No. Try again." "He wouldn't have brought it back to the refinery.
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