Terl had had no sleep and two fights already today, and he was in no mood for a third.

The snow was drifting down on a gray-white day, covering the half-wrecked, small, bladed vehicle, deepening on the broad expanse beyond the zoo. The man-thing looked utterly ridiculous in the huge Psychlo seat. Terl snorted.

The first fight had been over the uniform requisition. The clothing shop foreman– a mangy half-wit named Druk-had maintained that the requisition was forged: he had even said that knowing Terl he did not doubt it; and he had had the effrontery to verify it with an administrator. Then Druk had said he didn't have any uniforms that size and he wasn't in the habit of outfitting midgets and neither was the company. Cloth, yes, he had cloth. But it was executive cloth.

Then the animal had spoken up and said that under no circumstances would it wear purple. Terl had batted it. But it got up and said the same thing again. Leverage, leverage, damn not having leverage on this animal.

But Terl had had an inspiration and had gone out to the old Chinko quarters and found a bale of the blue stuff the Chinkos had once worn. The tailor said it was trash, but he could think of no more arguments.

It had taken an hour to hack out and fuse together two uniforms for the man-thing. And then it had refused to wear a regulation company buckle on the belt– almost had a fit in fact. Terl had had to go back to the Chinko quarters and dig around until he found what must have been an artifact– a small gold military buckle with an eagle and arrows on it. At least that made an impression on the man-thing. It s eyes had just about popped out.

The second fight had been with Zzt.

First Zzt wouldn't talk at all. Then he finally condescended to look at the requisition. He pointed out that there were no registration numbers in the blanks provided and maintained that this authorized him to provide anything he cared to at his own discretion. He said Terl could have the wrecked bladed vehicle. It was a write-off but it still ran. That was what had brought on the actual blows.

Terl had hit Zzt hard and they had gone around and around for almost five minutes, blow and counterblow. Terl had finally tripped over a tool dolly and gotten himself kicked.

He had taken the wrecked bladed vehicle. He had to walk beside it, running it, to get it out through the garage atmosphere port.

He now had the animal on it and it looked like another fight.

“What's this green stuff all over the seat and floor?” said Jonnie. The gently falling snow was covering it but it turned patches of the snow pale green as it dissolved.

At first Terl wasn't going to answer.

Then his sadistic streak got the better of him.

“That's blood.” “It isn't red.”

"Psychlo blood isn't red; it's real blood and it's a proper color– green. Now shut up, animal. I’m going to tell you how-'

“What's all this charred stuff around the edges of this big circle?” And Jonnie pointed to the edges where the canopy had once been.

Terl hit him. Jonnie almost flew off the huge high seat where he had been standing. But with some agility he caught hold of a roll bar and didn't fall.

“I have to know,” said Jonnie when he caught his breath. “How can I be sure somebody didn't press the wrong button and blow this thing up?”

Terl sighed. The arms of the man-thing weren't long enough to reach the controls and he'd have to stand up on the floor plates to run it. “They didn't push any wrong button. It just blew up.”

“But how? Something must have made it blow up.” Then he realized that this was the vehicle that had killed a Psychlo down on the landing field. He himself had heard it explode.

Jonnie pushed away some snow and sat down on the seat and looked the other way.

“All right!” snarled Terl. “When these vehicles are run by Psychlo operators they have a transparent hood over them. That is needed for breathe-gas. You won't be using any canopy or breathe-gas, animal, so it won't blow

“Yes, but why did it blow up? I have to know if I’m going to run the thing.”

Terl sighed, long and shudderingly. Exasperation made his fangs grate. The animal was sitting there looking the other way.

"Breathe-gas," said Terl, “was under the canopy. They were loading gold ore and it must have had a trace of uranium in it. There must have been a leak in the canopy or a crack and the breathe-gas touched the uranium and exploded.”

"Uranium? Uranium?"

“You're pronouncing it wrong. It's uranium"

“How do you say it in English?”

That was enough. “How the crap nebula would I know?” snapped Terl.

Jonnie carefully didn't smile. Uranium, uranium, he said to himself. It blew up breathe-gas!

And he had incidentally learned that Terl could not speak English.

“Which controls are which?” said Jonnie.

Terl was mollified a trifle. At least the animal wasn't looking the other way. “This button stops it. Learn that button good, and if anything else goes wrong, push it. This bar turns it to the left, that one to the right. This lever lifts the front blade, that one tilts it, the next one angles it. The red button backs it up.”

Jonnie stood on the floor plates. He made the front blade lift, tilt, and angle, peering over the hood each time to see what was happening. Then he made the blade lift well up. “See that grove of trees over there?” said Terl. “Start it toward them, dead slow.”

Terl walked beside the vehicle. “Now stop it.” Jonnie did. “Now back it up.” Jonnie did. “Now go forward in a circle.” Jonnie did.

Although Terl seemed to think this was a small vehicle, the seat was fifteen feet off the ground. The blade was twenty feet wide. And when it started up it shook not only itself but the ground, such was its heavy power.

“Now start pushing snow,” said Terl. “Just a couple of inches off the top.”

It was very difficult at first getting the blade to bite in varying degrees while the machine rolled forward.

Terl watched. It was cold. He had had no sleep. His fangs ached where Zzt had landed a good one. He clambered up on the vehicle and took Jonnie's rope and wrapped it around a roll bar, tying it at a distance where Jonnie wouldn't be able to get to it.

Jonnie stopped the vehicle, ready for a breather.

“Why didn't Numph hear me speaking?” asked Jonnie.

“Shut up, animal.”

“But I have to know. Maybe my accent is too bad.”

“Your accent is awful but that isn't the reason. You had a face mask on and Numph is a bit deaf.” This was a plain, outright security chief lie.

Numph had been able to hear all right and the animal's face mask had not muffled his speech a bit. Numph had been distracted by something else. Something Terl didn't know. And the reason Terl had had no sleep was that he had spent the entire night rummaging through dispatches, records, and Numph's files trying to get to the bottom of it. Leverage. Leverage. That's what Terl needed. He had found nothing of importance, nothing at all. But there was something.

Terl felt dead on his feet. He was going in to take a nap. “I have some reports to write,” said Terl. “You just keep this thing going around and practice with it. I’ll be out soon.”

Terl took a button camera out of his pocket and stuck it on the after roll bar, out of the animal's reach. “Don't get any ideas. This vehicle only goes at a walk.” And he left.

But the nap, aided by a heavy shot of kerbango, was a bit longer than he intended, and it was nearly dark when he came lumbering hurriedly back.

He stopped and stared. The practice field was all chewed up. But that wasn't the amazing thing. The animal had neatly knocked down half a dozen trees and pushed them all the way up the hill to the cage where they were now stacked. More– he had used the blade drop to slice up the trees into sections a few feet long and slit them.