y over the largest land mass.

Moya conned us in like a dream, paralleled, rectified, grappled, and
mated locks.

I showed up in Astrogation in a full-pressure suit, carrying the helmet.

The crew gawked, and somebody snickered.

"You think it's silly, do you?" Moya snapped.

"Better flush your side as soon as I get clear," I advised.

Moya nodded, lowered and secured the helmet, checked lines, and rapped
O.K.

An hour later, I still didn't feel silly. I had the helmet open now. I
sat in front of the communications console.

Moya responded as if he had been waiting with his finger on the stud. I
didn't have to specify taping; all star ship radio traffic is
automatically recorded.

"Level O.K.?" I asked.

"Yes, man; what's the story?"

"Inner lock and all compartments: air pressure, density, temperature,
and purity optimum; all intrinsic gear optimum; three shuttler berths
vacant; hold shows standard environmental equipment for one team gone;
messenger racks full, no programming apparent; absolutely no sign of
crew; repeat--"

"I got it; have you checked the log?"

"Who's doing this, you or me?"

I figured they could edit Moya's comment.

The log was strictly routine--space plan had been followed exactly;
arrival had been on schedule; survey team had been dispatched with
minimum delay, had reported grounding and camp establishment without
incident, had relayed particulars of commencement of operation--until
the last entry. It was eerie listening to the emotionless voice of 231's
skipper: "Sub-entry one. Date: same. Time: 2205 Zulu. No contact with
base camp. Surface front negates visual. Am holding dispatch of M 1.
Will wait until next scheduled report time before action."

There was no sub-entry two.

I broke the recorder seal, reversed and played back the comm tapes.
There wasn't much. Distance obviates any talky-talky from ship to base
once the Solar System has been cleared. What I learned was simply a
substantiation of what I'd already surmised. I cut off when I heard a
familiar voice say: "250 from 231."

* * * * *

Moya helped me strip off the pressure suit. No matter what the physio
manuals say, there's room for improvement. Nothing beats your own skin.

He trailed me into the gear compartment.

I returned the suit to its clips and began sorting through the welter of
what the well-dressed spacer wears for a bug rig somewhere near my size.
The tag is not co