“I am.” Morel turned to face Regulo, his face still reflecting his discontent. “I am the one who performed the background check on him, remember? He is a most dangerous combination: intelligent, and as obsessive as you once he begins to pursue something. What sort of lunatic will climb K-2 for sport, alone and with a minimum of oxygen equipment?”

“He has an advantage for climbing. Those artificial hands can hold on to anything.”

“Let us not be ridiculous, Regulo.” Morel’s tone was biting. “Since when did you become an expert on prosthetics? I know the subject far better than you. I assure you, regardless of what Merlin chooses to tell you about those hands — and regardless of what he believes about them — they are no stronger than flesh and blood, and they are certainly less sensitive in their touch. He has grown used to their presence, but they could have been at best no more than a marginal aid. They are not the reason that he was able to climb that mountain. There is only one valid reason: he succeeded because he is a madman. I would not choose to have that mania focused in my direction, the way it was concentrated on the summit of that peak.”

“All right, Joseph.” Regulo held up his hand to stem the rush of words. “I hear you, and I appreciate your concern. Will you take my word for it, if I tell you that your worry is unnecessary? You’ve seen Merlin. You’ve had the chance to read that face and those eyes, but perhaps you don’t know how to. I do, because I’ve seen that expression before. Rob Merlin is all engineer, with little time for anything else. Once we get moving on the beanstalk he’ll have his hands — real or artificial — too full to worry about anything connected with your work. Ten years from now, he might be a different man, but at the moment his concerns will all be with his projects — and you have no idea how focused that will make him. I know it, because I’ve been there myself.”

He went back around the desk and sat down, motioning Morel to the chair opposite. “Let me handle him,” he went on. “Now, I assume that you’ve been in communication with Atlantis again. What’s happening there? I’d like to hear how the new projects are coming along.”

Morel sat down. He spent a few moments organizing his thoughts, then began to speak in a clear and precise voice. Regulo leaned forward, bright eyes intent, lava-flowed face cupped in his bony hands. Occasionally he would nod, ask a question, or make a note for actions on the tablet set in front of him. Once he halted Morel, and keyed in a long sequence of entries on the control panel by his desk. He whistled at the answer.

“Do you realize how much that will cost? Joseph, it proves my point again — we have to have the beanstalk.”

Morel nodded. His mind was busy elsewhere. Money was Regulo’s problem. There had always been ample amounts of it in the past. Darius Regulo would find some way to keep the finances healthy.

As soon as they had entered the Space Tug and were comfortably in their seats, Cornelia Plessey pressed the door control that separated them from the crew section and looked questioningly at Rob.

“Where to?”

Rob, fiddling with the unfamiliar straps of the seat, paused in his efforts. “Give me ten minutes and I could give you a decent design for these things,” he said. “Are you implying that we have a choice?”

“Sure. I told you before we came up here, when you work for Darius Regulo there are advantages. I can give directions to have us set down anywhere, provided it’s not too far from the equator. I think that latitude twenty-five is about the limit for this Tug.”

“That presents new possibilities.” Rob thought for a moment. “I’m not sure yet. The first thing that I need is a nap — we’ve been going pretty hard since we left Earth and I’m beginning to wilt. How long will the flight down be?”

“About four hours.”

“That’s more than I need.” He hesitated. “I don’t know what your plans are, but if you have the time to do it I’d like to talk some more about Regulo. You told me a fair amount on the way up here, but now that I’ve met him I have a whole new set of questions.”

“We’ll talk as much as you like. That’s part of my job, and you’re my first priority.” She rubbed a thin brown hand at her tanned forehead, then closed her eyes for a moment. “If you don’t mind, though, let’s sleep before we talk. I’ve been up and about for almost twenty-four hours now. How about this for a plan of action: you decide where you’d like to go with the Tug, and we’ll wait until we get there before we eat? The food that they could give us on the Tug isn’t very good, and I don’t know how well your stomach will manage in free fall.”

“Badly. I’ll wait. I think I know where I want to go, but I have to make a call down to the surface before I’m sure of it.”

“There’s a cubicle in the back with a full scrambler on it, if you need real privacy.”

She watched him get up from his seat, cursing again at the straps, and make his way aft. His secrecy was intriguing. When he came back a couple of minutes later he was looking pleased with himself.

“It’s all settled. I’d like to have the crew take us to the southern part of the Yucatan, near the Guatemalan border. I’d estimate that as about latitude fifteen, so they’ll have no problem getting us there. Then we’ll go on from the spaceport and eat at Way Down.”

He looked at her, expecting a positive reaction, but her face was unreadable and her bright eyes downcast. Rob had a sudden concern that Corrie might find it less of a luxury than most people. How wealthy was she, with her expensive clothes and air-car? He had been assuming that the latter belonged to Regulo, but maybe he was wrong.

Her reaction seemed to confirm his view. “All right,” she said, but there was no enthusiasm in her voice.

“What’s wrong? Have you been there before?”

“No, I never have.” She looked up at him, and after a moment seemed to reach some decision. She smiled and nodded her head. “Let’s do it. I’ll go and tell the crew where we want to go, so they can work out an approach orbit and decide on the nearest port that can land us. You can just settle yourself here. There should be no need for you to be awake until we land — though I know I can’t sleep at all at two or three gees, and we’ll be getting that on parts of the way down to the surface. I’ll ask them to keep the ride as smooth as possible.”

Rob was thoughtful as she left the compartment and he settled down into his berth. No doubt about it, Corrie had something on her mind, and it concerned Way Down. Maybe she thought it wouldn’t live up to its reputation. Well, even if that were true of most of the attractions, he’d have something special to show her that ought to make a difference. He closed his eyes.

Sleep did not come quickly. His mind was too full of random ideas. Last night, tethered to the bare face of the mountain; now, in free fall up in synchronous orbit — and a wild day between those two nights. As Rob began to drift toward unconsciousness he saw before him the knobbed, grey face of Darius Regulo, with its cap of white hair and piercing blue eyes. What was it? The toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head. But ugly Regulo seemed anything except venomous. Kindly, shrewd, vastly experienced — and the very devil of an engineer. In some ways, that fact was more important than all the others.

“So how did you sleep?” Corrie appeared from nowhere a few seconds after they touched down.

“Not too well.” Rob looked at her admiringly. She had changed into a two-piece leisure suit, with a pale-cream blouse to show off her figure and her smooth arms and shoulders. “I was all right when we were under acceleration,” he went on. “I guess I’m the opposite of you — two gee was fine, but as soon as we went into zero gee I kept waking up and grabbing at the walls. Don’t forget I spent the past week on the side of a mountain. In that situation free fall is bad news.”