"That's a thought," agreed Seever. "Much better than your last one. Why would they have to come by night? They could make their approach under water at any time-or can their spaceships only move straight up and down, or something like that?" Bob looked startled.

"I never thought of that, and I don't really know about the ships. Well, we should get the message out there anyway. Somebody find a bottle."

The note was written as briefly as possible, in pencil, on a single sheet of paper. The doctor then waxed the paper. A bottle had been found, the amount of sand needed to sink it ascertained, and paper and, sand inserted. A tiny hole was drilled in the cork of the bottle to facilitate the entry of one of the Hunter's people, and the cork was tightly inserted; then the bottle was shaken around, top downward, until the paper had worked its way above the sand, presumably out of reach of water which would be forced part way into the bottle by the pressure at the bottom.

"That seems to do it," Jenny said happily when all this was accomplished. "I wish I could go with you."

"But of course you're too intelligent to suggest it seriously," her father added. Jenny made no answer.

"Sorry, Jen," Bob put in, "but there really isn't much to this anyway. By the time there's anything more to do, if there ever is, you should be all right again. There's just one more thing we need, then we can take off."

"What's that?" asked Seever.

"A good, heavy rock."

"What for? The bottle will sink."

"I know the bottle will. The trouble is, I won’t. We're not just dropping the bottle over the side; we're putting it right on the ship. I'm not a good enough swimmer to reach the bottom at four fathoms, at least with one bad arm, and if I got there I wouldn't have air enough to go looking for just the right spot. I'll sink myself with the rock, and save effort and air."

"And the doctor was talking about Jenny's intelligence!" exclaimed Maeta. "He'll have to hunt for some different words for yours. I'll go down, you idiot. Why this urge to go swimming with a broken arm? If you just want to see the ship, don't bother; you can't. It's all under mud."

"I know you can do it," admitted Bob. "You can do it better than I could even with two good arms and all my health. But there's something down there that injured the Hunter, and I have no business asking anyone else to face that. You've already been taking enough chances under water for me, Mae. This is my job and the Hunter's. He's taken a chance and apparently lost; now it's my turn."

His mother started to say something, but changed her mind.

"That's right, Mom. Of course you don't want me to go down, but you're honest enough to know I'm the one who should."

Maeta was on her feet. She was not really qualified to tower over anyone, but Bob was seated and had to lookup.

"Skip the heroics, Robert Kinnaird" she snapped. "The person who should go is the person who can do it best, and don't make it sound like a Roger Young mission, I'll be down and up again, with the bottle exactly where it should be, in ninety seconds-and that's allowing for mistakes in spotting the canoe. If anyone sees a shark, I'll wait; I'm not being heroic. I was down there before, after the Hunter was knocked out, remember, and nothing happened to me. And how many rocks do you plan to take out there in my canoe? You'll miss the site the first time and have to come up, and you'll need another rock to go down again, and another and probably another."

"Don't rub it in."

The battle of wills was fun to watch. Told about it later, the Hunter regretted having missed it, though, as he admitted, the end was never in doubt. Fond as he was of Bob, he knew by now that he was not always a completely reasonable being. He had not known Maeta nearly as long-casual acquaintance as one of Charles Teroa's sisters seven years before hardly counted-but he already knew that she was more intelligent than his host and quicker-witted. She also possessed a more forceful personality.

Besides all this, in the present situation she was right and both of them knew it. Bob's mother and the doctor kept out of it after the first few words, and between them managed to keep Jenny quiet too. The redhead, for reasons of her own, was on Maeta's side, but the older girl needed no help.

No rocks were carried.

Seever suddenly decided that he owed himself a pleasant ride on the water, and went along. Bob objected to this, saying that the Hunter should be kept under a medical eye, but the doctor insisted that there was nothing more he could do for the alien. In fact, he was much more worried about Bob, who now was deprived of his alien partner, lacked infection resistance of his own, and was otherwise not at his best. He refrained from mentioning this reason to either Mrs. Kinnaird or her son, and decided not to remind them of the situation by taking his bag along. He regretted this omission later.

It was mid-afternoon when they reached the out rigger on North Beach and embarked. The swell had increased since morning, and everyone was wet by the time they were afloat. The mile to the site was covered quickly, with all but Bob at the paddles, and the final search for the buoy took a little longer than Maeta had predicted. She worked the craft into what she recalled was the right position with respect to the marker, told Seever and Mrs. Kinnaird to hold it there, and without further ceremony slid overboard with the bottle. For a moment she trod water between the canoe's hull and the outrigger as she took in air; then she upended and drove downward.

Seever and Mrs. Kinnaird watched her as well as they could without interfering with their paddling. Bob did not. He was barely aware that she had gone at all he was becoming less and less conscious of any thing except pain. His limbs were sorer than ever, and his head felt hot. He knew the Hunter had been away from him for longer periods than this, but he felt far worse than the last time; and he was beginning to wonder whether the juggling act with his hormones was closing. He didn't know. He was beginning not to care. The sun hurt his eyes, even in the shadow of his hat brim, and he dosed them.

Maeta surfaced, well within the ninety seconds she had allowed, and slid into the canoe as smoothly as she had left it. "No trouble," she said, after getting her breath. "You can see the outline of the ship under the mud, if you know what to look for. I felt into the stuff. It's very soft, and there are only a few inches of it over the top part of the ship. I felt the hard stuff, but couldn't tell by touch if it was metal or something else."

"You left the message." Bob's mother did not put it as a question.

"Sure. Neck of the bottle down against the hull, the bottom part with the paper sticking above the mud. If they look at all, or feel at all carefully, they can't miss it."

"You shouldn't have taken the chance of touching the ship," the older woman said. "Bob was right about that. You might have gotten an electric shock, or something of that sort, as the Hunter seems to have done. Could that be what happened to him, Ben?"

The doctor shrugged. "Noway to tell, until he comes to and tells us. I don't know what electricity would do to him; I couldn't guess even if his tissues were likeours. There's no simple way to tell; a man can stand a shock that will kill a horse. Did he ever tell you anything about that, Bob?"

An incoherent mumble was his only answer. Mrs., Kinnaird gave a gasp of terror, but managed to retain her grip on her paddle.

Seconds later Bob was stretched out on the bottom of the dugout while Seever checked him over as well as the cramped situation allowed. He could find only the deep flush on the face and a racing pulse, which might have meant several things. The women were already paddling back toward North Beach as hard as they could. After doing what little he could for Bob, the doctor picked up the remaining paddle and used it.