Sheffield said, “What are you carrying, Mark?”
“Tree branch. I cut it off with the buzz-field gun. I’m taking it with me just in case anyone wants to stop me.” He swung it so that it whistled through the thick air.
“Why should anyone want to stop you, Mark? I’d throw it away. It’s hard and heavy. You could hurt someone.”
Mark was striding on. “I’m not throwing it away.”
Sheffield pondered briefly, then decided against a quarrel at the moment. It would be better to get to the basic reason for this hostility first. “All right,” he said.
The air-coaster lay in a clearing, its clear metal surface throwing back green highlights. (Lagrange II had not yet risen.)
Mark looked carefully about.
“There’s no one in sight, Mark,” said Sheffield.
They climbed aboard. It was a large coaster. It had carried seven men and the necessary supplies in only three trips.
Sheffield looked at its control panel with something quite close to awe. He said, “Imagine a botanist like Fawkes learning to run one of these things. It’s so far outside his specially.”