It was essential that the Klau remained ignorant of his plans. He must avoid giving them provocation. In one sense, killing the Klau yesterday was a mistake. But it had been necessary-an act which had given him an aura of power that killing Clet ten times would have failed to do. In the future he might have to back down on some of his fire-eating threats. Avoid the Podruods as best as possible; fight if cornered.

He circled the barge. The seamless hull rose four feet over his head. He tried to visualize a super-structure, and achieved only the picture of a deck-house on a sea-going freighter.

He climbed aboard. About half the cargo was crates of various sizes. Toward the bow lay four bundles of heavy pipe, a half-dozen mechanisms, apparently drill torches, a dozen spools of smooth cable. A good haul, thought Barch. He revised his mental picture from a deck-house to a dome of air-tight fabric over the barge, held down against air pressure by a net of cables.

He jumped to the ground, returned to the hall. Standing by the fire, he watched the women set out pots of gruel to boil.

Kerbol came blinking into the room, followed by the dour woman who was his mate. Barch felt a sudden sense of warmth, companionship. He had at least one friend in Palkwarkz Ztvo.

After breakfast he took Kerbol out to the barge, to inspect the cargo. Kerbol snapped open a crate marked with black and red symbols; inside were cannisters the size of apples.

"Those are abiloid," said Kerbol, "a slow explosive. This" -he opened a smaller crate, which held dense semi-metallic bars supported on a red plastic rack-"is super."

"Super-what?"

Kerbol shrugged. "Super is what they call it at the quarry. A small cut of super is equal to ten crates of abiloid. But it's fast. It smashes. Abiloid pushes."

"I hope you can detonate them."

Kerbol picked out one of the cans of abiloid, touched a wisp of thread. "This is the three minute timer. To detonate the super, you set it under a can of abiloid."

"It's all yours," said Barch. "There are you torches. Pick yourself a helper and open out Big Hole."

Barch returned to the cave, sent Flatface out in charge of a hunting crew.

At noon Kerbol reported the cave wall ready for firing. Barch doubtfully eyed the sky. Fog was creeping down the slope of Mount Kebali. "We'd better wait till dark. Then if any Klau fly over, the hole in the mountain won't hit them in the eye."

By mid-afternoon, the fog shrouded Palkwarkz Ztvo. Barch signaled Kerbol. "Set off your shots."

A few minutes later six blasts sent streamers of mist flying.

Barch entered the hall, took the down passage past Clet's old chamber, leaned over the pit at whose bottom sat the pilot. "Feel like working?"

The pilot looked up sullenly. "Kill me and have done."

"I don't want to kill you. I need your help. I wouldn't keep you in this hole if I thought you wouldn't run away."

The pilot's face became instantly cheerful. "I have nowhere to go; I cast my lot with yours."

Barch grinned. "That's a sensible decision, quickly arrived at." He lowered the rope, the pilot jerked himself up nimbly.

Barch took him to the barge, pointed to the gap in Big Hole.

"I want the barge inside."

The pilot swung himself quickly into the dome. "The work of an instant."

Barch climbed aboard behind the pilot. "We'll fly in together."

"As you wish," said the pilot peevishly.

The barge rose off the ground, glided up the slope, inched inside the gap. Two fires burned on a level area at the far end. "Land between the two fires," said Barch.

The barge slid through dimness. Stalactities, stalagmites clicked and crashed to the floor.

The barge grounded. Barch saw Kerbol already had men at work piling rocks back into the opening. He turned to the pilot. "How is it that the Klau trust you with a barge? Aren't they afraid you'll escape to the hills?"

The pilot made a supple gesture. "What would I gain? We pilots live well. In the hills the wild men eat each other like garfish."

Barch forebore to challenge the statement. "What would happen if you went back now?"

"I would be discredited."

Barch studied the pilot's mercurial face. "I don't want to kill you," he said slowly. "But I don't want the Klau to come looking for their barge."

"Far from likely."

"Unless you carried them tales."

The pilot blew out his cheeks. "My loyalty is yours forever."

"No one here but you knows how to pilot the barge. In a sense, you are essential to the success of our plan."

"And what is this plan?"

"There's no harm telling you. We'll build an airtight hatch over the barge and leave Magarak."

"Ah." The pilot nodded. "Now, indeed, I will join you."

"Now? Your previous promises could not have been sincere."

"You misunderstand. We of Splang are very delicate in our meanings."

"Chevrr up there is a Splang; I have no difficulty understanding him."

The pilot hissed contemptuously. "He is the mountain stock, a crude uncouth race. We of the coast forests are a different people entirely."

"Well, no matter," said Barch. "I'll take a chance on you. What's your name?"

The pilot said something like, "T'ck-T'ck-T'ck."

"I'll call you Tick," said Barch. "You understand that I'll think poorly of any attempt to visit Quodaras?"

"Certainly. That's to be expected."

"Then help fill the hole with rock. I'll talk more to you later."

Barch sat studying his list of the tribe members, a heterogeneous crew. Of men with technical skills useful in the conversion of a cargo barge to a space-ship, there was a depressing paucity. Pedratz claimed a knowledge of welding; Kerbol displayed familiarity with explosives; Tick could fly the barge. But who knew anything about air purification, who could repair drive-circuits, who knew the lore of space navigation?

Barch looked unseeingly into the fire, drumming his fingers, thinking. The first thing to do was isolate the problems, work on each by itself. First, there must be greater security against the Klau. Barch critically inspected the opening to the cave, where nothing prevented Podruods from stepping in to kill them all.

He rose to his feet, walked through the winding crevice out into the night. Darkness everywhere. The wind roared down the valley, the great black leaves flapped a melancholy undertone, like surf on a rocky beach. Behind him the faintest glimmer of light shone out from the crevice.

Tomorrow he would arrange some kind of trip-alarm system around the clearing. But there was still tonight. Barch returned within. Nearest the opening sat two Calbyssinians, Ardl and Arn busy at their incomprehensible love-making, each trying to divine the other's sex. Barch knelt beside them, took off his wrist watch. "Tonight we keep guard. You two will watch first, for as long as it takes this little finger to move from here to here. Then one of you will wake"-he looked over his shoulder-"the two Griffits. Come outside and I will show you where you must station yourselves. It's important."

At the cave mouth he said, "Arn, you stand here; Ardl, you walk quietly through the forest at the edge of the clearing. At every circuit report to Am. Change off if you like. When you wake the Griffits, give them the same instructions."

Returning inside he set four more watches, himself taking the middle watch with Kerbol.

One problem temporarily shoved back out of the way.

Tick, the hatchet-faced pilot, was engaged in conversation with Chevrr, his brittle countryman. Barch joined them. "How did you get your assignments? Did you work out of a central transportation depot?" he asked.

"Correct. My depot is-was-Quodaras Thirteen, and every day I might receive a different assignment."

"You must know Magarak well."

Tick preened himself. "As well as any man can know it."