nd supply the raw
materials for his constant nightmares.

There was only one fringe benefit. The lack of thought pressure made it
easier for him to concentrate. In spite of his fatigue the diagram
developed swiftly.

* * * * *

Meta arrived late that afternoon, bringing the parts he had ordered. She
slid the long box onto the workbench, started to speak, but changed her
mind and said nothing. Jason looked up at her and smiled.

"Confused?" he asked.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, "I'm not confused. Just annoyed.
The regular trip has been canceled and our supply schedule will be
thrown off for months to come. And instead of piloting or perimeter
assignment all I can do is stand around and wait for you. Then take
some silly flight following your directions. Do you wonder that I'm
annoyed?"

Jason carefully set the parts out on the chassis before he spoke. "As I
said, you're confused. I can point out how you're confused--which will
make you even more confused. A temptation that I frankly find hard to
resist."

She looked across the bench at him, frowning. One finger unconsciously
curling and uncurling a short lock of hair. Jason liked her this way. As
a Pyrran operating at full blast she had as much personality as a gear
in a machine. Once out of that pattern she reminded him more of the girl
he had known on that first flight to Pyrrus. He wondered if it was
possible to really get across to her what he meant.

"I'm not being insulting when I say 'confused,' Meta. With your
background you couldn't be any other way. You have an insular
personality. Admittedly, Pyrrus is an unusual island with a lot of
high-power problems that you are an expert at solving. That doesn't make
it any less of an island. When you face a cosmopolitan problem you are
confused. Or even worse, when your island problems are put into a bigger
context. That's like playing your own game, only having the rules change
constantly as you go along."

"You're talking nonsense," she snapped at him. "Pyrrus isn't an island
and battling for survival is definitely not a game."

"I'm sorry," he smiled. "I was using a figure of speech, and a badly
chosen one at that. Let's put the problem on more concrete terms. Take
an example. Suppose I were to tell you that over there, hanging from the
doorframe, was a stingwing--"

Meta's gun was pointing at the door before he finished the last word.
There was a crash as the