"Her pouch?"

"Of course. That's where she hid the ‘brain' the time she and I swiped the ship. Didn't you know?"

"I didn't know she had a pouch."

"Well, neither did they. They watched to see she didn't carry anything out of the shop-and she never did. Not where it showed."

"Uh, Peewee, is the Mother Thing a marsupial?"

"Huh? Like possums? You don't have to be a marsupial to have a pouch. Look at squirrels, they have pouches in their cheeks."

"Mmm, yes."

"She sneaked a bit now and a bit then, and I swiped things, too. During rest time she worked on them in our room."

The Mother Thing had not slept all the time we had been on Pluto. She worked long hours publicly, making things for wormfaces-a stereo-telephone no bigger than a pack of cigarettes, a tiny beetle-like arrangement that crawled all over anything it was placed on and integrated the volume, many other things. But during hours set apart for rest she worked for herself, usually in darkness, those tiny fingers busy as a blind watch-maker's.

She made two bombs and a long-distance communicator-and-beacon.

I didn't get all this tossed over Peewee's shoulder while we raced through the base; she simply told me that the Mother Thing had managed to build a radio-beacon and had been responsible for the explosion I had felt. And that we must hurry, hurry, hurry!

"Peewee," I said, panting. "What's the rush? If the Mother Thing is outside, I want to bring her in-her body, I mean. But you act as if we had a deadline."

"We do!"

The communicator-beacon had to be placed outside at a particular local time (the Plutonian day is about a week-the astronomers were right again) so that the planet itself would not blanket the beam. But the Mother Thing had no space suit. They had discussed having Peewee suit up, go outside, and set the beacon-it had been so designed that Peewee need only trigger it. But that depended on locating Peewee's space suit, then breaking in and getting it after the wormfaces were disposed of.

They had never located it. The Mother Thing had said serenely, singing confident notes that I could almost hear ringing in my head: ("Never mind, dear. I can go out and set it myself.")

"Mother Thing! You can't!" Peewee had protested. "It's cold out there."

("I shan't be long.")

"You won't be able to breathe."

("It won't be necessary, for so short a time.")

That settled it. In her own way, the Mother Thing was as hard to argue with as Wormface.

The bombs were built, the beacon was built, a time approached when all factors would match-no ship expected, few wormfaces, Pluto faced the right way, feeding time for the staff-and they still did not know where Peewee's suit was-if it had not been destroyed. The Mother Thing resolved to go ahead.

"But she told me, just a few hours ago when she let me know that today was the day, that if she did not come back in ten minutes or so, that she hoped I could find my suit and trigger the beacon-if she hadn't been able to." Peewee started to cry. "That was the f- f- first time she admitted that she wasn't sure she could do it!"

"Peewee! Stop it! Then what?"

"I waited for the explosions-they came, right together-and I started to search, places I hadn't been allowed to go. But I couldn't find my suit!

Then I found you and-oh, Kip, she's been out there almost an hour!" She looked at her watch. "There's only about twenty minutes left. If the beacon isn't triggered by then, she's had all her trouble and died for n- n- nothing! She wouldn't like that." "Where's my suit!"

We found no more wormfaces-apparently there was only one on duty while the others fed. Peewee showed me a door, air-lock type, behind which was the feeding chamber-the bomb may have cracked that section for gas-tight doors had closed themselves when the owners were blown to bits. We hurried past.

Logical as usual, Peewee ended our search at my space suit. It was one of more than a dozen human-type suits-I wondered how much soup those ghouls ate. Well, they wouldn't eat again! I wasted no time; I simply shouted, "Hi, Oscar!" and started to suit up.

("Where you been, chum?")

Oscar seemed in perfect shape. Fats' suit was next to mine and Tim's next to it; I glanced at them as I stretched Oscar out, wondering whether they had equipment I could use. Peewee was looking at Tim's suit. "Maybe I can wear this."

It was much smaller than Oscar, which made it only nine sizes too big for Peewee. "Don't be silly! It'd fit you like socks on a rooster. Help me. Take off that rope, coil it and clip it to my belt."

"You won't need it. The Mother Thing planned to take the beacon out the walkway about a hundred yards and sit it down. If she didn't manage it, that's all you do. Then twist the stud on top."

"Don't argue! How much time?"

"Yes, Kip. Eighteen minutes."

"Those winds are strong," I added. "I may need the line." The Mother Thing didn't weigh much. If she had been swept off, I might need a rope to recover her body. "Hand me that hammer off Fats' suit."

"Right away!"

I stood up. It felt good to have Oscar around me. Then I remembered how cold my feet got, walking in from the ship. "I wish I had asbestos boots."

Peewee looked startled. "Wait right here!" She was gone before I could stop her. I went on sealing up while I worried-she hadn't even stopped to pick up the projector weapon. Shortly I said, "Tight, Oscar?"

("Tight, boy!")

Chin valve okay, blood-color okay, radio-I wouldn't need it-water- The tank was dry. No matter, I wouldn't have time to grow thirsty. I worked the chin valve, making the pressure low because I knew that pressure outdoors was quite low.

Peewee returned with what looked like ballet slippers for a baby elephant. She leaned close to my face plate and shouted, "They wear these. Can you get them on?" It seemed unlikely, but I forced them over my feet like badly fitting socks. I stood up and found that they improved traction; they were clumsy but not hard to walk in.

A minute later we were standing at the exit of the big room I had first seen. Its air-lock doors were closed now as a result of the Mother Thing's other bomb, which she had placed to blow out the gate-valve panels in the tunnel beyond. The bomb in the feeding chamber had been planted by Peewee who had then ducked back to their room. I don't know whether the Mother Thing timed the two bombs to go off together, or triggered them by remote-control-nor did it matter; they had made a shambles of Wormface's fancy base.

Peewee knew how to waste air through the air lock. When the inner door opened I shouted, "Time?"

"Fourteen minutes." She held up her watch.

"Remember what I said, just stay here. If anything moves, blue-light it first and ask questions afterwards."

"I remember."

I stepped in and closed the inner door, found the valve in the outer door, waited for pressure to equalize.

The two or three minutes it took that big lock to bleed off I spent in glum thought. I didn't like leaving Peewee alone. I thought all wormfaces were dead, but I wasn't sure. We had searched hastily; one could have zigged when we zagged-they were so fast.

Besides that, Peewee had said, "I remember," when she should have said, "Okay, Kip, I will." A slip of the tongue? That flea-hopping mind made "slips" only when it wanted to. There is a world of difference between "Roger" and "Wilco."

Besides I was doing this for foolish motives. Mostly I was going out to recover the Mother Thing's body-folly, because after I brought her in, she would spoil. It would be kinder to leave her in natural deep-freeze.

But I couldn't bear that-it was cold out there and I couldn't leave her out in the cold. She had been so little and warm ... so alive. I had to bring her in where she could get warm.