Madonette lifted lovely eyebrows with curiosity, stepped daintily over the low wall, bent and looked. Eyebrows even higher now.

“How did you do that? On this side there is a circle-cross sign stamped into each brick.”

“Biology,” I said. “I remembered from school.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, stepping back. “The symbols for male and female.”

Floyd had strolled on ahead; he called out. “Right as rain. Here is VIROJ stamped into a brick. And,” he leaned over and looked, “VIRINOJ on the other side.”

Very gradually the wall became higher as we walked beside it. In addition to the symbols we came to LJUDI then MTUWA, HERRER, SIGNORI.

“Enough,” I said, stopping. “Packs off. We shall now take our break while we see what we have here. The message seems to be clear enough. Look at the path we have been following. Is there another path on the other side as well?”

The brick wall was as high as our waists now; Floyd put one hand on it and vaulted over, bent and looked.

“Maybe, but not too clear. Could have been here once but it is so overgrown with grass that it is hard to tell. Can I come back now?”

“Yes-because it’s about time for a decision.” I pointed ahead to the slowly heightening wall. “The Fundamentaloids said they came to the city to trade. So they must have come this way, possibly made this track that we are following.”

Madonette nodded agreement-and didn’t like it. “And they were all men, I remember that all too clearly. Unclean indeed! No women allowed. Or if the women did come this way they would have to have walked over on the other side of the wall. What do you want us to do, Jim?”

“What do we want to do? As I said – it’s time for a decision. Do we all stick together and ignore the obvious instructions? That’s the first question that we have to answer.”

“Do that and I’ll bet that eventually we get into some kind of trouble,” she said. “A lot of serious work went into this wall. So if we don’t read the message something not too nice is guaranteed to happen. It always does on this world. The choice is mine. I’ll cross over and trot down the other side – ”

“No,” I broke in. “As we go along the wall gets higher and we’ll be separated, out of contact. That won’t do.”

“Well I’m not staying here-and I can’t go back. So we need contact, what you just said. Kindly clack your jaw-a-phone and get onto Tremearne. Tell him to get some radios down here that we can use to keep in touch. If we are going to complete this assignment the right way, we will have to know what is going on on both sides of the wall. And I’m the only one who can find out what happens-here.”

She picked up her pack and planted her bottom on the wall, swung her legs up and over and smiled at us from the other side. I didn’t like it.

“It’s not a matter of liking or not liking it,” she said reading my doubts from my expression. “It is just the only way that we can get the job done. Get the radios. Don’t forget that Tremearne will always be listening in and can send the marines if any of us gets into trouble. Call him.”

“I will. But let us make sure they are the right kind of radios before we put in the order. Line of sight is going to be out with the wall standing in the way and blocking the signal. Plus-who knows hour thick the thing is going to be? It could soak up all the radio frequencies and that would be the end of that. Anyone know of a kind of radio that shoots a signal through rocks?”

I was speaking my thoughts aloud, half in jest. So was more than a little surprised when a voice behind me said, “Yes.”

I spun about and glared at Steengo who was buffing his fingernails on his shirt, then admiring his image in their shining surfaces.

“You said that?” I accused. He nodded sagely. “Why?”

“Why is a good question. The answer is that although I stand before you, an aging amateur musician drawn from retirement to risk his life for the public good, it should not be forgotten that I worked for many a decade in the cause of that same public good. League communications. Where I helped develop a neat little device referred to as MIPSC.”

“Mipsic?” I echoed inanely.

“Close enough, my good friend Jim. MIPSC is the acronym of Miniaturized Personal Satellite Communicator. I suggest that you clamp your jaw and order up a brace of them. Although four would be better-that way we could all keep in touch at all times. And remind Tremearne to put a commsatellite into orbit as well. Geostationary over the city of Paradise.”

“MIPSCs are not only highly secret but incredibly expensive,”

Tremearne said when I contacted him.

“Just like this little task force. Can you do it?”

“Of course. They’re on the way.”

A half an hour later a small package drifted down from the sky hanging from a gray-lifter-which zipped up and vanished as soon as the package had been removed. I popped the end open and shook out a handful of false fingernails. I popped my eyes at these-then remembered how Steengo had been buffing his own fingernails when he told me about MIPSC.

“Tricky,” I said.

“High tech and perfect concealment,” he said. “There should be glue in the package. They come in pairs. The one marked E goes onto the index finger, left hand. M glued to the pinkie of the same hand. Inside the nails are holographed circuitry so they can be trimmed as small as needed to fit. Without damaging the circuits in any way.”

“E? M?” Floyd asked.

“Earplugs and microphone.”

“Then what?” I asked, almost humbly, dazed by the sudden appearance of a communications wizard in our midst.

“They are powered by the destruction of the phagocytes that come to eat them where they touch the cuticle. Which means that the power is always on. Anytime you are outside or in a building with thin floors-your signal zips up to the satellite and back down to the other receiver. Simple. Just put your index finger into your ear and talk into the microphone on your pinkie.”

I measured a pair, trimmed and glued with, I must admit, a certain amount of trepidation. Stuck my finger into my ear and said, “I hope it works.”

“Of course it does,” Tremearne said, speaking through my fingernail instead of my jaw for a change.

While we had been installing the MIPSCs we had been going over and over all of the possibilities, had returned always to the only viable plan.

“Let’s do it,” Madonette said, admiring her new communicating fingernails. She put on her pack, shrugged it into comfortable position, then turned and walked off on her side of the barrier. With each step the wall grew higher, until, very quickly, it was as high as her head, then higher. After a last wave of her hand she vanished from sight.

“Keep in touch,” I said into my pinkie. “Regular reports and sing out if you see anything-anything at all.”

“Just as you say, boss.”

We slipped on our packs and started walking. By the time an hour had passed the wall was high and unscalable. Though I stayed in radio contact with her, Madonette was now completely alone. I kept telling myself that armed help could zip down from the orbiting spacer if needed. This did not make me feel much better.

“First tilled fields coming up,” Floyd said. “And more than that, That dust cloud next to the wall-it’s coming our way.”

“Weapons ready-and I have some concussion grenades handy if things get hairy.”

We stopped and waited and watched. In the distance it looked like a horse that was trotting towards us.

“Horse-but no rider,” I said.

Steengo had the keener vision. “Looks like no horse I ever saw before. Not one with six legs.”

It slowed to a stop and looked at us. We returned the favor. A robot, metal. Jointed legs and in the front a pair of tentacle-like arms to boot. No head to speak of, just a couple of eyes that rose up on a stalk. A loudspeaker between its arms rustled and squawked metallically.