Krogt had opened the food containers unaided and he handed one to Truman. “What are you talking about, Chick?”

“I’m telling you what’s wrong with the management back at base. Listen… We’ve been on Orbitsville for months, right?”

“Right.”

“Now take this little jaunt you and I are on right now. These hills are three hundred metres high. Our orders are to set up the reflectors at an elevation of two hundred and fifty metres. We’ve been told where to set them, where to aim them, what deviation will be acceptable, how long to take with the assignment — but there’s one thing we haven’t been told to do. And I find it a pretty astonishing omission, Pete.”

“Your yeasteak’s getting cold.”

“Why did nobody tell us to climb the extra fifty metres to the top of the hill and have a look at the other side?”

“Because there’s no need,” Krogt said heavily. “There’s nothing there but grass and scrub. The whole inside of this ball is nothing but prairie.”

“There you go! The Assumption of Mediocrity.”

“It isn’t an assumption.” Krogt gestured with his fork towards the shimmering watered-silk canopy of the sky. “They’ve had a look around with telescopes.” “Telescopes!” Truman sneered to cover up the fact that he had forgotten about telescopic examination of the far side of Orbitsville, then his talent for rapid mental calculation came to his aid. “We’re talking about a distance of more than two astronomical units, sonny. If you were standing on Earth, what would one of those spyglasses tell you about life on Mars?”

“More’n I want to know. Are you going to eat this yeasteak or will I?”

“You eat it.”

Truman got to his feet, slightly dismayed at the way in which a discussion on philosophy had led him to renounce his meal, and marched away up the slope. He was breathing heavily by the time he reached the rounded summit and paused to re-light his pipe. The yellow flame from the lighter dazzled his eyes and almost a minute had passed before Truman appreciated that, spread out on the plain below him, dim and peaceful, were the lights of an alien civilization.

The arrival of the first wave of ships had surprised Garamond in two ways — by its timing, which could have been achieved only if it had set out within days of Elizabeth’s own arrival on Orbitsville; and by its size. There were eighty Type G2 vessels, each of which carried more than four thousand people. A third of a million settlers, who originally must have been destined for the relatively well-prepared territories of Terranova, had been diverted to a new destination where there was not even a shed to give them shelter for their first night.

“It beats me,” Cliff Napier said, sipping his first coffee of the day. He was off duty and had spent the night in Garamond’s house. “All right, so Terranova has only one usable continent and it’s filling up fast, but the situation isn’t that urgent. No matter how you look at it, these people are going to have a rough time at first. They haven’t even got proper transportation.” “You’re wondering why they agreed to come?” Garamond asked, finishing his own coffee.

Napier nodded. “The average colonist is a family man who doesn’t want to expose his wife and kids to more unknown risks than necessary. How did Starflight get them to come here?”

“I’ll tell you.” Aileen came into the room with a pot of fresh coffee and began refilling the cups. “Chris and I were down at the store this morning while you two were still in your beds, and I talked to people who saw the first families disembarking before dawn. You know, you don’t learn much by lying around snoring.”

“All right, Aileen, we both think you’re wonderful. Now, what are you talking about?”

“They were given free passages,” Aileen said, obviously pleased at being able to impart the news.

Garamond shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true, Vance. They say Starflight House is giving free travel to anybody who signs on for Lindstromland within the first six months.”

“It’s a trick.”

“Oh, Vance!” Aileen’s eyes were reproachful. “Why don’t you admit you were wrong about Elizabeth? Besides, what sort of a trick could it be? What could she hope to gain?”

“It’s a trick,” Garamond said stubbornly. “What she’s done isn’t even legal — the teams from the Government land agencies haven’t got here yet.”

“But you always say the law doesn’t mean anything to the Lindstroms.”

“Not when they want to take something. This is different.”

“Now you’re being childish,” Aileen snapped.

“He isn’t,” Napier said. “Take our word for it, Aileen — Liz Lindstrom never acts out of character.”

Aileen’s face had lost some of its natural colour. “Oh, you know it all, of course. You know all about how it feels for a woman to lose her only…” She stopped speaking abruptly.

“Child,” Garamond finished for her. “Don’t hold anything back for my benefit.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…” Lenses of tears magnified Aileen’s eyes as she walked out of the room.

The two men finished their coffee in silence, each dwelling on his own thoughts. Garamond wondered if the sense of pointlessness which was silting through his mind was due to his having to stand by helplessly while the President imposed her will on Orbitsville, or if it sprang from the slow realization that he was out of a job. The entire Stellar Exploration Arm had become superfluous because there was no need for the big ships to search the star fields ever again. Could it be, he wondered, that I existed only for the search?

With an obvious effort at diplomacy, Napier began discussing the work being carried out by the Starflight research teams. Despite the use of more sophisticated and more powerful cutting tools than had been available on board the Bissendorf nobody had even managed to scratch the shell material. At the same time, studies of the inner shell were indicating that its movement was not a simple east-west rotation, but that subtle geometries were involved with the object of producing a normal progression of day and night close to the polar areas. Another team had been working continuously on the diaphragm field which prevented the atmosphere from rushing into space through the kilometre-wide aperture in the outer shell. No significant progress had been made there, either. The force field employed was unlike anything ever generated by human engineers in that it reacted equally against the passage of metallic and non-metallic objects. Observations of the field showed that it was lenticular in shape, being several metres thick at the centre. Unlike the shell material, it was transparent to cosmic rays and actually appeared to refract them — a discovery which had led to the suggestion that, as well as being a sealing device, it was intended to disperse cosmic rays in such a way as to produce a small degree of mutation in Orbitsville’s flora and fauna — if the latter existed. In general, the field seemed more amenable than the shell material to investigation because it had proved possible to cause small local alterations in its structure, and to produce temporary leaks by firing beams of electrons through it.

“Interesting stuff, isn’t it?” Napier concluded.

“Fascinating,” Garamond said automatically.

“You don’t sound convinced. I’m going to have a look at the new arrivals.”

Garamond smiled. “Okay, Cliff. We’ll see you for lunch.”

He got to his feet and was walking to the door with Napier when the communicator set, which had been connected to the central exchange by a landline pending a solution of the radio transmission problem, chimed to announce an incoming call. Garamond pressed the ACCEPT button and the solid image of a heavy-shouldered and prematurely grey young man appeared at the projection focus. He was wearing civilian clothing and his face was unknown to Garamond.