“Why?”
“To see what you would do. I was interested in what you might find. I thought if you saw me, you would send me away.”
Fawkes became conscious of the weapon he was still holding and put it away. It took three tries to get it into the holster.
The first fat drops of rain began to fall. Fawkes said, harshly, “Don’t say anything about this to the others.”
He glared hostilely at the youngster and they walked back to camp separately and in silence.
A central hall of pre-fab had been added to the seven tents now, and the group was together within it, sitting about the long table.
It was a great moment, but a rather subdued one. Vernadsky, who had cooked for himself in his college days, was in charge. He lifted the steaming stew off the short-wave heater and said, “Calories, anyone.”
He ladled the stuff lavishly.
“It smells very good,” said Novee, doubtfully.
He lifted a piece of meat with his fork. It was purplish and still felt tough despite internal heating. The shredded herbs that surrounded it seemed softer, but looked less edible.