They separated. He hunted carefully, moving everything that could be moved, looking for the flash of red wings. The bird was shy and had hidden. They met in the center aisle. In answer to his unspoken query, she shook her head. "I didn't see it." "It's here," he said stubbornly. "I can't be mistaken." She started to say something and changed her mind. "Let's look again," she suggested. It was not what she intended to say. What she thought was plain from the expression on her face. * * * * * Again they went through the plant machine, searching. Every crevice, every hidden corner was examined. He peered into the machinery, the tanks and the trays, above and below. They looked, but there was no bird. Larienne stood beside him and glanced up at the ceiling. "Maybe it got out through the ventilators." "It couldn't," he said harshly. The ventilators were also filters; a microbe would have difficulty getting through. She was trying to give him a way out, but he couldn't take it. The room in which the plant machine was housed was not a simple open space; there was structure throughout. But it was inconceivable that something as large as a bird, even a small bird, could escape detection. "I'll take care of the plant," he said quietly. "I want to think." She left. He knew how she felt. It was worse because she did feel that way. He had scored against himself. Larienne would say nothing to the rest of the crew, but it would come out. Emotional reactions couldn't be hidden. And if there was ever an inquiry, she'd have to tell her story. Franklan would see that there was an inquiry. That was his job. There was nothing particularly arduous about life on a tag ship, yet not everyone was suited to it. Monotony--and each person had to adjust to the others as well as the ship. There was no room for a person who saw things. It was a most effective attack, without danger for the man or men behind it. Twice he had seen something that wasn't there, and there were witnesses to testify against him. It would be enough to remove him from the ship. The subsequent treatment wouldn't harm him, but the ship would be gone and he'd never get back on. Tag ships were just too unpredictable; they came and they went as they pleased, and no one could say where they would next arrive. Baffled, he tried to catalogue the crew. Not Larienne. She'd live with him if he wanted, more readily now than before. Ordinary rules didn't apply to her; sympathy counted for most. Nor was it Franklan. Bluntly he'd given his opinion, but that didn't mean he was responsible for this. The person who was behind it was keeping well hidden. Alsint went wearily down the line, adjusting and readjusting. On one of the handles was--a tiny red feather. * * * * *