"I remember. ‘Ice On My Mind.' Someone spelled that out in alfalfa, two years ago. HI drops functional IQ. It doesn't cause emotional damage."

"Carolyn McAndrews," Justin said. And Mom's been getting harder to live with...

"All right, I'll give you that one," Joe said. "But I don't believe it was a First, and neither do you."

Justin felt his fingers knot into fists. "Double-talk. All of you came to this planet coasting on your freezing intellectual egos. Thought you were the smartest things in the known universe. Then most of you lost a few points-some more than that. Add the Grendel Wars. Pretty high fear factor there, you know? Hey, sis-does Joe still wake up screaming? Still scaring Cadzie at two in the morning... ?"

"Stop it," Linda said. Her voice was coldly serious, "And stop it now."

"You're crossing the line, Justin," Joe said.

"You too," Linda said, but it didn't sound the same.

She's made her choice, Justin thought. And it's not any of the Second. To hell with that. "Just remember that. There is a line-"

"Justin-"

"No, Sis, let me finish. There is a line, and we'd better both remember it. You can say Surf's Up did this as a prank-but it's your side doesn't want anyone going to the mainland. We all want to go."

"So do I," Joe reminded him. "No quarrel there. Now let me give you something to think about. How do you suppose we were chosen to come on this expedition?"

"I've read all about it," Justin said. "Cassandra has the records."

"Like hell she does," Sikes said. "Cassandra has the official records, but they're dry as dust. Laddie, some of us worked to get here. Did you ever think who chose the colonists?"

"Well, it was a board appointed by the directors of the Geographic Society," Justin said. "So?"

"A board of shrinks," Sikes said. "Psychiatrists and social workers. Ruth Moskowitz was one of them. And they picked just the kind of people you'd expect them to."

Justin frowned. "I don't see what you're getting at."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Sikes said. "Let me put it this way. Damn near all the colonists were exactly the sort of people the shrinks wanted them to be. Colonel Weyland was an exception, a military man picked for his profession. Then there was Carlos. He qualified on brains, but the shrinks would never have picked him, so his father bribed the selection board. He wanted Carlos as far from the family as possible. As for the rest-" Joe shrugged. "Some were people the shrinks approved of, and some, a few, maybe more than a few, wanted to go so bad they worked at it, found out what the shrinks were looking for, and played head games."

"And you were one of those?"

"Maybe it's time-" Whatever Linda had been about to say was drowned out by the sudden wails of the baby. Linda glared at both of them. She swept her child into her, arms, holding him close. "There... there." She kissed his wrinkly forehead. "Just stop it, both of you. I don't know who the Merry Pranksters are, but I can't believe that anyone, First or Second, would do something like this deliberately. It's not funny, it's dangerous."

"So what is it?" Joe demanded.

"I don't know. I think it's the planet surprising us again. And that damned eel has got everyone upset."

Justin searched his heart, searching for the voice that would say that she was right, or wrong. She was right.

"All right," he said finally.

Linda grinned. "Now, I can't have two of my four favorite men mad at each other... "

"Four?" Joe forced his mouth into a neutral position.

"Sure, now that Cadzie is here..."

"And your brother, I guess... and Cadmann?"

"Sure."

And whoever was the father of the baby would make five, Justin thought. He could see that Joe Sikes was thinking the same thing. There was a long and awkward pause. "Linda, isn't there some way to find Dad?"

She shrugged. "Edgar might be able to. He's smarter than I am."

Justin kissed Cadzie good-bye, and went back out to the main room. Edgar had taken Toshiro's place at the main console and was splitting his attention, watching some kind of holoplay through his goggles. Toshiro had another set. Whatever they were doing it was together, and not visible to anyone not wearing the head-mounted displays. Justin thumped him on the back of the head. "Edgar?"

"Yeah?"

"About that favor you owe me. I know that my dad doesn't have his tracer turned on, but can you locate him?"

Edgar flipped the lid of his lenses up. He stood up to stretch, elaborately, fingers linked over his head. His pudgy body was an upright spear, its tip twisting in a slow circle. Edgar had hurt his back, long ago, and it had never quite healed.

"Go straight into Sun Salutation," Toshiro said. "Head loose as you come down. Hands farther back, take your weight with just your arms as you jump straight back... hold it... elbows back, down slowly. Now inhale, chest forward-"

Edgar was puffing a little as his head and shoulders came up, but he was way improved since the-last time Justin had seen him. Toshiro's training was having its effect. Short of breath, but he wasn't complaining. Edgar finished the sequence, grinned at Justin while he emptied and refilled his lungs, and said, "Cadmann's not wearing a personal tracer. He disabled the tracer on the skeeter."

"Dad likes his privacy."

"You bet. I don't know exactly where his lodge is."

"Nobody does, except it's south of Isenstine Glacier."

Edgar grinned at him wickedly. "Well... what's in it for me?"

"First pick, next catch."

"Even stringfish?"

"No problem."

"Well, okay. Take over the watch, Toshiro-san?"

"Certainly. I relieve you, Edgar-san."

"Thanks. Okay, Justin, let's see what I've got." Edgar led him over to another console away from where Toshiro sat. "Geographic has images of the fuel dumps he uses. Here-" Edgar's fingers tapped silently at a virtual keyboard display. The wall in front of them turned into a vast field of ice and rock: the wasted expanse of Isenstine Glacier that fed both the Amazon and Miskatonic. Three tiny dots glowed redly. "There. About eight hundred miles apart."

"Spare fuel cells. Each cell takes him about five hundred miles. So he carries two backups, and has emergency dumps as well. That's Dad."

"Not that they're roughly in a straight line-"

"And the last one ends about three hundred miles north of the end of the glacier. Dad and Moms are collecting plants. The nearest cacti are probably six hundred miles from the south tip of the glacier."

"So the lodge is probably in this area somewhere-"

"Assuming that the straight line holds true," Justin said.

"Yeah. Well, additional evidence-"

Edgar spoke softly to Cassandra. "Cassie, I want to look at previous dates when Colonel Weyland took his tracers off-line."

"Weyland data is restricted," Cassandra said.

"Pretty please," Edgar said, and muttered something else Justin couldn't hear.

"Wilco," Cassandra said.

Edgar grinned. "Search Geographic satellite watch for unusual infrared spots during just those periods." He looked at Justin, face screwed up in speculation. "Ha. Has he ever made an emergency landing?"

"Last year. A rotor almost went. He was down overnight." Justin searched his memory. "And three years ago. Got caught in a bad storm. Put down overnight."

"The rotor should be on the maintenance records." Edgar muttered to Cassandra. Thermal maps of the glacier flashed by, held for the dates that Cadmann Weyland was known to be on one of his jaunts, and then rolled on. Justin watched in fascination as Edgar searched until two map images came into focus. They looked as if they had been taken from about two miles up, and on each of them, tiny heat pulses flared.

"Campfires." Edgar was utterly smug. "The dates probably match. Your dad put down overnight. First one matches the maintenance record. Second . ...h. It was one of those nasty little solar-flare storms. Must have gotten hairy up on Isenstine."