Terl was hugging his ribs to keep from laughing with delight. He didn't want the sentry to log something about his conduct. Maybe the sentry would think he had a stomachache.

Oh, it was too much!

His professors were absolutely right. He was easily the greatest officer they had ever trained!

The laughs finally erupted from him but the guard had changed by then and the new sentry thought he was just being more insane than usual. There was nothing in the log except that that cadet had been there for a routine visit to practice talking Psychlo. The new sentry walked about. He had an odd feeling of foreboding. Had the summer night turned cold? Or was it just that insane laughter from the cage?

“We,” said Jonnie, “are going to Africa.”

Dr. MacKendrick looked up from his task of removing the cast from Thor's arm, a little startled.

All the wounded Scots but Thor had left the underground hospital; Thor's arm had had to be rebroken and set but now it was fine, and with Thor gone, the hospital would be empty save for Jonnie. Dr. Allen had returned to Scotland to care for his practice and Dr. MacKendrick had been thinking of doing so as well.

As he finished cracking off the cast, Dr. MacKendrick said, "We"

“Yes,” said Jonnie. “You are a bone man but you are also a neurosurgeon,

I think they call it.”

Dr. MacKendrick looked at the tall young man, standing there leaning on his cane. He liked this young man. He liked him very much. His practice was being run at home by a competent young doctor and he supposed that arrangement could continue. He had thought a little vacation might be appropriate before taking up his tools in the Aberdeen cave. But Africa?

Thor was flexing his arm, looking very pleased. MacKendrick told him all about what exercises he must now do to keep his muscles from collapsing. It looked like a pretty good job of bone-setting this time.

Jonnie beckoned and MacKendrick followed him as he hobbled into a sickroom Jonnie had been using as an office. An old operating table was covered with papers, photographs and books.

“I need some dead Psychlos and I need some live Pyschlos," said Jonnie.

Thor, in the doorway, laughed. “I shouldn't think you'd have any trouble with the dead ones. There's nearly a thousand somewhere around the compound.”

“Sorry,” said Jonnie. “They dumped them in a mile-deep mine shaft and the shaft is so shaky it's a risk to fly down it. I’ve spent the whole last week looking for dead Psychlos."

“There is the Chamco pair,” said Dr. MacKendrick.

“Sorry again,” said Jonnie. “The Council for some reason of its own had the bodies burned.”

“Just what is the problem here?” said Dr. MacKendrick.

“You ever stop to wonder why the Intergalactic Mining Company always shipped bodies home? They don't want dead Pyschlos lying about.”

“The parson,” said Thor, “cut up the pair we found in the plane.”

“He wasn't looking for what I’m looking for,” said Jonnie.

Dr. MacKendrick smiled. “Autopsies on dead Psychlos. Jonnie, it wouldn't be a full day unless you astonished me with something.” He was referring to an incident a week ago when he was sewing up Jonnie's cheek: the needle had been a little dull, and Jonnie in reflex had reached up with his right hand and gripped his wrist to make him ease off.

MacKendrick had felt a bit contrite about the arm and leg; he had feared that he might have injured something when he operated. But the sudden movement of the arm and hand had told him that it was a matter of getting back into communication rather than physical damage: Jonnie had tried to do it again voluntarily and couldn't. “Must be like learning to wiggle your ears,” Jonnie had said. “All you have to do is find the right muscles to pull, and how.” MacKendrick supposed he really should stay around and help Jonnie recover.

“Well,” said MacKendrick, motivated more by the possibility of being able to help Jonnie's arm and leg than by any real interest in autopsies on dead Psychlos, “I guess I could go along. But why Africa?”

Jonnie smiled and beckoned Thor nearer. “There's a live, operating, untouched Psychlo mine there!”

Thor gasped. “We missed?”

“It isn't a full-fledged minesite. It is a branch mine of the central minesite near what used to be called 'Lake

Victoria.' Here.” And he showed them on the map. “Over to the west of there, way deep in jungle, there was-and is– a tungsten mine. The Psychlos are mad for tungsten.” He circled an area. “All this is jungle. On the pictures it looks like tall, tall trees, making a total umbrella. Thousands of years of growth. A recon drone doesn't even penetrate into that vast area of swamp.

“We chose our targets from recon drone maps. And yes, we missed. It 's my bet they're still sitting there listening to the strange chatter on the pilot planetary, keeping their furry Psychlo heads down and waiting for a chance to break out.

Thor smiled. “That's sort of grim, Jonnie. We go down and shoot them just to get some dead bodies.”

“I don't want just dead bodies, I also want some live ones. There's a graduate engineer or six at every minesite."

“And what,” asked MacKendrick, “are these autopsies supposed to show?”

“I don't know,” said Jonnie. “So will you gather up your scalpels and come along?”

“You're not telling me everything,” said Dr. MacKendrick.

“Well, as a matter of fact,” said Jonnie, "I’m not. This is very secret. We will state we are going to make a tour of some tribes. And if you go, Thor, you can even visit some, and pretend to be me the way you used to at the lode.”

“This sounds very hush-hush,” said MacKendrick.

“It is,” said Jonnie.

Jonnie had not liked the way things were going with the Council. It was passing lots of laws– one couldn't keep up– and he wasn't invited there anymore.

“And you're trying to solve-?” said MacKendrick.

“Why the Chamcos committed suicide,” said Jonnie. And why he was making no progress trying to untangle the mathematics of teleportation. For a week now he had been going round and round and getting nowhere. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but it had to be there whatever it was.

“So Africa?” said Jonnie.

“Africa,” said Thor.

“Well, Africa,” said Dr. MacKendrick.

The big battle plane lanced through the skies over the Atlantic. It was a type used for company marines and had seats for fifty Psychlos with space and lift capacity for tons of weaponry and gear. Jonnie in the pilot's seat flew easily and relaxed, flying with his left hand, straight on course.

Big as the plane was, they had had trouble keeping it from getting overloaded. It was all secret and would remain so. There would be no leaks. But friends and a small amount of activity attracted attention to them.

Dunneldeen had shown up with five Scots– just happened by that day from their regular run to Scotland. Colonel Ivan, whose total force was about eighty valiant-red-army Cossacks, had to be persuaded to leave half of them taking care of the base. Angus, just an hour before departure from the heliport, had casually plunked about a hundred pounds of tools into the back and quietly sat down, uninvited. A rather fearful stack of weapons and explosives had magically appeared in the hands of four of the original Scots led by Dwight. Dr. MacKendrick seemed to have brought anything he thought he ever might need in any practice.

There had been a bit of a flap just before take-off. Pattie, it seemed, had found the true love of her life in Bittie MacLeod and they wouldn't have known Bittie was also aboard except that Pattie came rushing down the stairs to the heliport to kiss him a childishly tearful goodbye. Chrissie had said nothing, feeling bad. But suddenly an old woman had come up with Chrissie's possessions and taken her in tow, and it turned out Robert the Fox was putting them on a regular run to Scotland. His family wanted to meet Chrissie, he explained. And then Pattie had to be packed up and sent with them. Then they were just closing the door when they had to open it again to take in Robert the Fox, complete with cloak and claymore.