But he knew the answer to that. Takeoff would be no problem, any more than it would for the other small transports at the far end of the strip. These planes were not going to return, ever. * * * * * The work went on, and then it was done, or all but, and Chandler knew no more about it than when it was begun. The last little bit was a careful check of line voltages and a balancing of biases. Chandler could help only up to a point, and then two execs, working through the bodies of one of the Hawaiians and the pilot of a Piper Tri-Pacer who had flown in some last-minute test equipment--and remained as part of the labor pool--laboriously worked on the final tests. Spent, the other men flopped to the ground, waiting. They were far gone. All of them, Chandler as much as the others. But one of them rolled over, grinned tightly at Chandler and said, "It's been fun. My name's Bradley. I always think people ought to know each other's names in cases like this. Imagine sharing a grave with some utter stranger!" "Grave?" Bradley nodded. "Like Pharaoh's slaves. The pyramid is just about finished, friend. You don't know what I'm talking about?" He sat up, plucked a blade of stemmy grass and put it between his teeth. "I guess you haven't seen the corpses in the woods." Chandler said, "I found a town half a mile or so over there, nothing in it but skeletons." "No, heavens, nothing that ancient. These are nice fresh corpses, out behind the junkheap there. Well, not _fresh_. They're a couple of weeks old. I thought it was neat of the execs to dispose of the used-up labor out of sight of the rest of us. So much better for morale ... until Juan Simoa and I went back looking for a plain, simple electrical extension cord and found them." With icy calm Chandler realized that the man was talking sense. Used-up labor: the men who had unloaded the first planes, no doubt--worked until they dropped, then efficiently disposed of, as they were so cheap a commodity that they were not worth the trouble of hauling back to Honolulu for salvage. "I see," he said. "Besides, dead men tell no tales." "_And_ spread no disease. Probably that's why they did their killing back in the tall trees. Always the chance some exec might have to come down here to inspect in person. Rotting corpses just aren't sanitary." Bradley grinned again. "I used to be a doctor at Molokai." "Lep--" began Chandler, but the doctor shook his head.