"Now don't start jumping to conclusions," I told Moya. "All I know is that whatever happened happened quickly and down below." From the weapons' chest, I selected a little W&R 50 and the biggest clip I could find. "Fifties" aren't much for range, but they are unconditionally guaranteed to make a creature the size of a Triceratops think twice before heading in your direction again, and, once you strap one on, you never feel the weight. That's why, even though they are officially obsolete, you can generally find a brace in most star ship arsenals. "Remind me to report the maintenance gang of this hunk for stocking unauthorized weaponry." "You would, too," Moya said. On the way back to the lock, I told him: "Let's save time by not making a duplicate recording. I'll transmit additional information and intent going down. There's one shuttler left in 231, so I'll use it. If I find I need something that isn't in the shuttler, I'll fetch myself. Under no circumstances are you or any of your boys to leave this ship without my say-so." "What happens if--?" "You've had thirty years of deep space, Tony; am I supposed to tell you your job? Go by the book. Either launch another messenger and sit tight for instructions, or get out and risk a board inquiry, depending." "You can rot down there for all of me." "Thanks a pile. Make certain your crew understands. I wouldn't want any of them getting their pretty hands dirty." But I didn't feel so cocky going down. I hadn't the least idea of what to expect. Sure, I'd gleaned something from the comm tapes: the unsuccessful attempts to contact the survey team at base camp; the happy-go-lucky report from the kid sent in shuttler II to investigate, saying that the camp was deserted but everything looked fine, just fine; the unsuccessful attempts to recontact him; and then a blank except for my own voice. Apparently, the skipper had followed with the rest of the con crew. I could even guess why he had failed to make additional entries in the log, or not transmitted from the camp in lieu thereof. He figured it was something he could work out himself, and he didn't want anything on record to show that he had broken regulations. He wanted to keep the errors of personnel under his command--and his own--in the family. He figured, after the situation was resolved, that he could make cover entries and nobody's slate would be soiled. * * * * * The camp was at the edge of a plain marked "Hesitation" on the chart. I plucked a scrap of verse out of my mind: _On the Plains of Hesitation Bleach the bones of countless millions Who, when victory was dawning Sat down to rest And resting, died._ I wondered how prophetic that was going to be.