"Susie, want to dig some vines?" But Sears halted in the act of climbing her neck. Spearman had joined them, with a good hunter's quiet. "You really have something there." Spearman was cordial and flushed. "Pygmies still make the best wine. Ours is no damn good, yet." "Meant to ask how the last turned out." "Needs ripening, like everything else." "In fact," said Paul, "you're slightly plastered." "But slightly." Ed grinned. "How if I climb on one of those?" Sears was doubtful. "Have to get acquainted first. Mister Smith over there--he shook me off the first time. Not rough--just wasn't ready." "They pull vines at command? You can steer 'em?" "Sure. If they like you. Knee pressure." "Abara's good?" "They prefer him to me. Arek is better still. I miss her." "Mijok rides, doesn't he?" "Mijok and Elis. Surok's a bit skittish. I guess Pak thinks it's undignified--or else the damned witches disapprove." "Hm.... We have, maybe, three days before Lantis hits us--" "Lantis--I'd succeeded in forgetting her for three minutes." Sears drooped his head against the column of Mister Smith's foreleg; eyes closed, he cursed without humor. He dredged up almost forgotten words from the old years of Earth, from bars, docks, dissecting rooms, at least four major religions. He cursed Lantis root and branch, ancestry and posterity, heart, body, and brain. Regaining a trace of mirth, he outlined a program of correction that would have kept hell under forced draft for a thousand years. Still with closed eyes, he asked, "What's the point, Ed? What's the damned point?" "How many of these critters have you tamed?" "Five. There's another smelling around, not ready yet." "And five riders--you ride 'em, don't you, Paul?" Paul nodded. Abara and Mister Johnson returned in silence, under the trees behind Spearman, who was unaware of them. Sears said, "Paul's good. Good balance." "So you have a rider for each mount.... Well, I talked it over with Doc--he says it's your department. What if a bunch of those animals, with armed riders--" "No," said Sears. "Quite impractical." "Why?" "Well.... They won't go in the open--omasha." "They will at night, you told me." "They are not fighters." "If they go where you order 'em--" Sears said, "No. If Paul and I and the two strongest giants were trying that, what's left? You, Doc, Surok, and the giant women." Spearman snapped: "Then use only three--Abara, Mijok, Elis." "Mijok will fight beside Chris. You know that. So will I."