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pretty much ignores me. When he's sure none of you are paying any attention to him, he
slips away."
"His work doesn't seem to be suffering. He comes in with as much new stuff as anyone
else."
"I know. He tries to beg off Base Camp duty every time, too."
Simna shrugged. "You can hardly blame him for that. With all the finds waiting to be made
out here, I'd rather be out in the field gathering glory myself than back at camp tending to
mundane chores."
"He balks even at the little that's asked of him. We're doing all we can for Stewart, and
Kauri and Frank take care of most of the maintenance."
Simna nodded thoughtfully. "Speaking of our illustrious captain, how's he doing? I haven't
seen him in a while."
"He keeps to himself a lot, spends a great deal of time mumbling. But the work gets done."
"I guess that's what matters."
She looked away, eyeing the remarkable fungi with sudden indifference. "I've known Ted
longer than you have. It's not like him to be that assertive, to argue before complying.
Something's bothering him."
Simna spread his hands wide. "I don't know what to tell you, Favrile. If he's up to
something, he's keeping it well hidden."
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She leaned forward, her manner earnest. "Talk to him, Jack."
"I have been talking to him. Just like I talk to everyone else."
"I don't mean ordinary, everyday conversation. Talk to him. Try to find out what's on his
mind."
"If it's that important to you, why don't you try to draw him out?"
She shook her head impatiently. "He wouldn't be honest enough with me. Besides which, I
don't know the right questions to ask, how to push the appropriate buttons. I don't have
your talent for getting to people."
He grinned wryly. "Thanks ... I think. All right. If it's bothering you that much, I'll see what
I can do."
"It's not just me. Bella-Lynn's commented on it, too. And Millie."
"Ah. Female perception."
"I don't think so. I think everyone's noticed. Including you. You just don't like to discuss
things unless you're absolutely, positively sure you have all the answers first."
"I'll talk to him," the older scientist reiterated.
"Good. You're not fooling me, Jack. I know Ted's attitude's been bothering you, too. You
don't miss anything."
"Like the color of your eyes?"
"You know what I mean," she replied without missing a beat.
As he rose he slipped the carefully marked and filled vials into the carrying case. "You
know, you could be making too much out of this. Maybe he's just immersed in his work.
Maybe he's found something that requires a great deal of concentration to classify and
analyze, and when he's finished he's going to surprise us with the results."
"We're not supposed to engage in private studies. This is an open expedition. We're
supposed to share all findings with each other, no matter how speculative."
"I'm not disagreeing with you. It's just that Ted's such an easygoing guy that in the heat of
discovery he may have momentarily forgotten some of the rules. I still think he's planning
to surprise us." He slid the carrying case into his backpack. "People are full of surprises."
"That's right," she admitted readily. "Even you."
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He had no clever reply for that.
Though the forest was more fecund and the desert more alien, the beach was Simna's
favorite place. There more than anywhere else he felt almost at home, while the waves
regularly washed up fresh discoveries of their own. Sometimes he felt he should have had
his blood tested, certain that its composition would vary little from that of seawater.
There was something uniquely soothing about the sound of the waves, the feel of even
alien sand beneath his feet, the play of sunlight on water and surf. The ocean was a warm,
wet, salty cocoon he knew he could slip into at any time and feel rejuvenated. The original
survey probe's identification of oceans on Xica was what had first excited interest on
Earth. They were probably also what had convinced Old Cone to gamble his one-way, one-
shot flight on this particular extrasolar system.
The sand was very fine-grained and tinted green in places due to the presence of residual
volcanic olivine. His polarizing glasses muted the glare as he probed with shovel and
siphon in search of tiny shore-dwellers. Not everything of interest on Xica was
immediately visible to the overwhelmed explorer.
That's when he detected movement out of the corner of one eye. It was further down the
beach, but not so far that by squinting he couldn't make out Halstead's lumbering
silhouette. Nor was the younger scientist alone. Though he had excellent distance vision,
Simna was unable to identify his colleague's companion. At first he thought it might be
Lejardin, but soon changed his mind.
Reaching up, he adjusted the knurled knob on the side of his glasses. As magnification
increased, the two distant figures leaped toward him. It was Halstead, all right, clad in
light shorts and multipocketed work vest. Like an extension of his own arm, the ever-
present recorder hung from his fist.
The other figure was not Lejardin nor, for that matter, any member of the crew of the
James Cook. It was a Xican, female, and from the distinctive designs on her poncho, a
Pendju. She held Halstead's free hand in her own smaller grasp.
Flipping the lenses back to normal, Simna surveyed his surroundings. Save for the two
figures ambling down the beach he was quite alone.
Slipping his recorder strap around his neck, he returned siphon and shovel to their
brackets in the backpack, which he then snugged behind a wave-polished boulder just
above the high-tide line. No one would bother it. Unless explicitly granted permission
beforehand, no native would touch any of the visitors' gear. Old Cone might have educated
them in the arts of primitive war, but both tribes observed strict prohibitions against theft.
He's afraid we'll corrupt his precious aliens, Simna thought. What he doesn't realize is that
he's corrupted them already. No matter how fond they are of the physiques and culture
he's given them.
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