Hardwick regarded it thoughtfully. The boat was, of course, roughly five planetary diameters out--the conventional distance to which a ship approached any planet on its own drive. Hardwick could see the ice cap very clearly, and blue sea beyond it and the twilight-line. There was one cyclonic storm just dissipating toward the night-side, and the edge of a similar cloud-system down toward the equator. Hardwick searched for Headquarters. It was on an island at about forty-five degrees latitude, which ought to be near the center of the planet's surface as seen from where the ship's boat floated. But he could not make it out. There was only the one island of any importance and it was not large. Nothing happened. The boat's rockets remained silent. The young officer sat quietly, looking at the instruments before him. He seemed to be waiting for something to happen. A needle kicked and stayed just off the pin. It was an external-field indicator. Some field, somewhere, now included the space in which the ship's boat floated. "Hm-m-m," said Hardwick. "You are waiting for orders?" "Yes, sir," said the young man. "I'm ordered not to land except under ground instructions, sir. I don't know why." Hardwick observed detachedly: "One of the worst wiggings I ever got was in a boat like this. I was waiting for orders and they didn't come. I acted very Service about it: stiff upper lip and all that. But I was getting in serious trouble when it occurred to me that it might be my fault I wasn't getting the orders." The young officer glanced quickly at an instrument he had previously ignored. Then he said relievedly: "Not this time, sir. The communicator's turned on, all right." Hardwick said: "Do you think they might be calling you without shifting from ship-frequency? They were talking to the ship, you know." "I'll try, sir." The young man leaned forward and switched to ship-band adjustment of the communicator. Different wave bands, naturally, were used between a ship and shore, and a ship and its own boats. A booming carrier wave came in instantly. The young officer hastily turned down the volume and words became distinguishable. "... _What the devil's the matter with you? Acknowledge!_" The young officer gulped. Hardwick said mildly: "Since he ranks you, just say 'Sorry, sir.'" "S-sorry, sir," said Barnes into the microphone. "_Sorry?_" snapped the voice from the ground. "_I've been calling for five minutes! Your skipper will hear about this! I shall_--" Hardwick pulled the microphone before him. "My name is Hardwick," he observed, "I am waiting for instructions to land. My pilot has been listening on boat-frequency, as was proper. You appear to be calling us on an improper channel. Really--" There was stricken silence. Then babbled apologies from the speaker. Hardwick smiled faintly at young Barnes. "It's quite all right. Let's forget it now. But will you give my pilot his instructions?" The voice said strainedly: