"Oh, my." The man crumbled behind the desk, as though his legs had just given way. "I don't understand it. They told me--" "I don't care what they told you," said Kielland shortly. "I'm a trouble shooter, not an administrator. When production figures begin to drop, I find out why. The production figures from this place have never gotten high enough to drop." "This is supposed to be news to me?" said Simpson. "So you've got troubles." "Friend, you're right about that." "Well, we'll straighten them out," Kielland said smoothly. "But first I want to see the foreman who put that wretched landing platform together." Simpson's eyes became wary. "Uh--you don't really want to see him?" "Yes, I think I do. When there's such obvious evidence of incompetence, the time to correct it is now." "Well--maybe we can go outside and see him." "We'll see him right here." Kielland sank down on the bench near the wall. A tiny headache was developing; he found a capsule in his samples case and popped it in his mouth. Simpson looked sad and nodded to the orderly who had stopped scrubbing down the wall. "Louie, you heard the man." "But boss--" Simpson scowled. Louie went to the door and whistled. Presently there was a splashing sound and a short, gray creature padded in. His hind feet were four-toed webbed paddles; his legs were long and powerful like a kangaroo's. He was covered with thick gray fur which dripped with thick black mud. He squeaked at Simpson, wriggling his nose. Simpson squeaked back sharply. Suddenly the creature began shaking his head in a slow, rhythmic undulation. With a cry Simpson dropped behind the desk. The orderly fell flat on the floor, covering his face with his arm. Kielland's eyes widened; then he was sitting in a deluge of mud as the little Venusian shook himself until his fur stood straight out in all directions. Simpson stood up again with a roar. "I've told them a thousand times if I've told them once--" He shook his head helplessly as Kielland wiped mud out of his eyes. "This is the one you wanted to see." Kielland sputtered. "Can it talk to you?" "It doesn't talk, it squeaks." "Then ask it to explain why the platform it built didn't hold the landing craft." Simpson began whistling and squeaking at length to the little creature. Its shaggy tail crept between its legs and it hung its head like a scolded puppy. "He says he didn't know a landing craft was supposed to land on the platform," Simpson reported finally. "He's sorry, he says." "But hasn't he seen a landing craft before?" Squeak, squeak. "Oh, yes." "Wasn't he told what the platform was being made for?" Squeak, squeak. "Of course." "Then why didn't the platform stand up?" Simpson sighed. "Maybe he forgot what it was supposed to be used for in the course of building it. Maybe he never really did understand in the first place. I can't get questions like that across to him with this whistling, and I doubt that you'll ever find out which it was."