Cosmo shook his head. He put his fingers back in his mouth, whistled until he was red in the face. He might as well have whistled for a wind. Bemmelman stamped out of the tower. He scoured the low roof of clouds, an ominous glitter in his pig-like eyes. "Where are they?" "You know as much about it as I do." Cosmo shrugged. "They're not there or they'd come down." "If you're tricking me...." "How the hell would I be tricking you?" Cosmo asked irritably. "You heard me give my orders over the telecast. They're not there, that's all. And I'm damn glad they're not!" The planter continued to stare at him suspiciously. Cosmo could feel his plan hanging precariously in the balance, then Bemmelman said: "It doesn't matter, I suppose. They can be rounded up later. The Security Patrol will be here any moment." He shoved Cosmo ahead of him into the tower. Cosmo let his breath escape evenly. He could feel little beads of sweat on his forehead. The red-faced planter slipped the dart gun out of his pocket. "Rabaul," he ordered grumpily; "Get the men back to their quarters." The Martian elevated his eyebrows, but Bemmelman vouchsafed no explanation. The planter watched his overseer herd the men down the stair, then turned to Cosmo as the last of the Jovians were disappearing. The dart gun dangled in his fist at his side. His eyes were mean. "Get a move on," he said sharply. "All right," said Cosmo. He was right beside the planter. In that instant Bemmelman sensed danger. His eyes widened. He tried to whip up the dart gun. Then Cosmo's manacles smashed the planter along side the head. It was a terrible blow. The red-faced slave breeder caved to the floor as if his bones had turned to jelly. For a moment, Cosmo thought he'd killed him. He stooped, found Bemmelman's pulse. It was weak but steady. Grim-lipped, he leaped back to the roof. Cursing his manacles, Cosmo fumbled a whistle from his pocket. He wet his lips, blew. As the time he'd summoned the Ormoo to carry off Mia, the high shrill note was inaudible to human ears. Bemmelman, Cosmo thought grimly, had been a bit too clever. The planter had heard him say whistle over the telecast. It hadn't occurred to him that the Ormoo might be trained only to notes in the higher register. He glanced aloft. The cloud blanket began to boil suddenly. Then the Ormoo plummeted soundlessly to the roof. Big Unse, the blue star of the Fozoql caste tattooed on his yellow forehead, his face split by a grin, leaped silently from its back. The bird stretched out its beak, rubbed it against Cosmo's leg. "Quick!" said Big Unse. "On to the bird. We'll be spotted in a minute." Cosmo shook his head, watching a surface plane nose cautiously down from the clouds. "There's a girl below stairs." Big Unse scowled in disgust. "Why," he asked practically, "do you have to have that particular one?"