“This was a defeat,” said Jonnie. “The Psychlos may have suffered damage, maybe not. But they would have taken any damaged equipment from the field.”

“No, no, no,” said the historian. And he told them about a handwritten romance in the university library about a similar battle. It had occurred on a line between two ancient villages known as Dumbarton and Falkirk, at the narrowest point above where England and Scotland had once met, just below the Highlands. “And the remains of Psychlo tanks can be detected there to this very day.”

“That's true,” said Robert the Fox. “I have seen them.”

The historian said, “No Psychlo has ever come north of that point– not until you, MacTyler, flew in your demon. It is the only reason we can still exist in the Highlands.”

“Tell me more of this romance,” said Jonnie.

“Oh, it is quite badly written,” said the historian. “A curiosity, not literature. It was scribbled by a private in the Queen's Own Highlanders who escaped north from the battle. A sapper, I think he was. They handle land mines.”

“Land mines?” said the parson. “Mines for ore?”

“No, no,” said the historian. “I think they used the word 'mine' for explosives buried in the earth– when the enemy crossed them, they exploded. The private used the term 'tactical nuclear weapons.' He goes on about how a fragment of a regiment that had been in bunkers escaped the gassing and withdrew north. The captain, I think, had a girl in the Highlands. And they laid a string of mines from Dumbarton to Falkirk. Psychlo tanks in pursuit hit them and these mines exploded. The Psychlos were not out of tanks or troops. They simply withdrew south and they never came back to recover their dead or their equipment. The romance says it was due to the spirit of Drake intervening, for drums could be heard....”

“Wait,” said Jonnie. “Those were nuclear weapons.”

“Whatever those are,” said the parson.

“Uranium,” said Jonnie. “There must still be a band of uranium dust between those two towns.” He explained to them about Psychlo breathe-gas.

“Aye, it fits,” said Robert the Fox.

The historian looked enlightened and drew his shabby old cloak around his shrunken shoulders. “It sounds like the magic ring of fire, or the geometric signs the creatures of the netherworld dare not cross.”

Jonnie looked at the eroded remains of the weapon in his hands and then along the trench. “These poor men didn't have any uranium, didn't even really know about Psychlos. They had only these.”

“They died like brave men,” said the parson, removing his cap.

The others also removed theirs.

“We just have to be sure,” said Jonnie, “we don't wind up like them!”

“Aye,” said Robert the Fox.

Jonnie laid the remains of the gun down and they walked back thoughtfully toward the cooking fires. The wail of a piper was soft in the night wind.

Terl was working with maps of the mountains. He had the latest recon drone pictures of the lode and he was trying to find any trails or roads that came near this deep gash. It was one awfully difficult operation, and when he thought about the animals undertaking something that would make an experienced Psychlo miner cough, it put spots in front of his eyes. The site was simply not accessible by ground travel.

His newly acquired secretary, Chirk, came in. She was stupid enough not to be any menace and good-looking enough to be decorative. She got drunk with economical speed and had other advantages. Her utility was in blocking off callers and shuffling administration papers back for somebody else to handle. Since he was now in reality the top Psychlo on the planet, he shouldn't be bothered with trivial details. Overload the already crushed Numph, was his motto.

“The animal is here to see you,” she trilled.

Terl had hastily covered up the maps when her paws touched the door. He scraped them into a top drawer and out of sight. “Send it in.”

Wearing his air mask and clothing of Chinko cloth, Jonnie came in. He had a long list in his hand.

Terl looked at him. Things were working out pretty well. The animal was on his good behavior, despite having no button camera surveillance now. They had an arrangement whereby Jonnie could come over every few days and take care of food for the girls and confer.

Jonnie had suggested a radio link, but Terl had become very cross and adamant. No radio. That was final. The animal could walk his feet off if he wanted to say anything to Terl. Terl knew there were plenty of receivers in the minesite, and radio might tip his paw and blow his security.

“I have a list,” said Jonnie. “I can see that,” said Terl.

“I want piping and Chinko cloth and the tools to cut and sew it together and some pumps and shovels-”

“Give it to Chirk. Sounds like you're rebuilding the whole defense base. Typical animal. Why don't you get busy with machine instruction?”

“I am,” said Jonnie. And it was very true. He had been spending ten hours a day with the youths and schoolmaster.

"I’ll send over Ker," said Terl.

Jonnie shrugged. Then he indicated the list. “There's a couple of items here that should be cleared with you. The first is the Chinko instruction machines. There are about six of them in the old Chinko quarters. The equipment controls are all in Psychlo and so are the manuals. I want to take those and all their discs and books.”

“So?” said Terl.

Jonnie nodded. “The other item is flying trucks.”

“You've got flying platforms.”

“I think we should have some flying personnel carriers and flying trucks. I’ve been to see Zzt and he has a whole garage floor full of them.”

To Terl's suspicious mind came the sudden feeling that the animal was looking through the desk top at the maps in the drawer. It was very true that there were no roads to that place. All carrying, he realized, would have to be by air– and it would be difficult flying at that. But a flying truck or a personnel carrier had the same controls as a battle plane and fewer guns. There was a hard rule that no alien race could be trained in battle. Then Terl thought of the inaccessible lode. Well, a mining truck was not a battle plane, that was for sure. Besides, he controlled the planet and he made the rules.

“How many you want?” said Terl, reaching for the list. “Hey! You've written twenty! And tri-wheel ground cars... three ground cars...”

“The order was to train them on equipment, and if I haven't got the equipment-”

“But twenty!”

Jonnie shrugged. “Maybe they're hard on equipment.”

Terl barked a sudden laugh as he remembered the animal nearly going over the cliff in the burning blade scraper. It tickled him.

He drew out one of the blanks Numph had signed and punched the animal's list in above the signature.

“How much time have I got?” asked Jonnie.

Terl was too secretive to come flat out with times. The times actually coincided with the semiannual firing of personnel and dead Psychlos. He calculated rapidly. Nine months total. Maybe three months for training to the next transshipment, and six months for mining to the second in the early spring of next year. Better give it an edge.

“Two months to get them all trained,” said Terl.

“That's awfully fast.”

Terl took the remote control box out of his pocket and tapped it and put it back. He laughed.

Jonnie frowned, his face mask obscuring the dangerous light that had leaped into his eyes.

He took a tight hold on his temper and voice. “I could use Ker to help ferry this stuff.”

“Tell Chirk.”

“Also,” said Jonnie, “I need some experience operating over those mountains. The updrafts and downdrafts are very strong and in winter they'll be worse. I don't want you getting ideas if I fly around up there.”