"What's the Baldric?" I had asked.
Antlers Park flicked the ash from his cheroot and shrugged.
"Will you believe me, sir," he said, "when I tell you I've been out here on this forsaken moon five years and don't rightly know myself?"
I scowled at that; it didn't make sense.
"However, as you perhaps know, the only reason for colonial activities here at all is because of the presence of an ore known as Acoustix. It's no use to the people of Earth but of untold value on Mars. I'm not up on the scientific reasons, but it seems that life on the red planet has developed with a supersonic method of vocal communication. The Martian speaks as the Earthman does, but he amplifies his thoughts' transmission by way of wave lengths as high as three million vibrations per second. The trouble is that by the time the average Martian reaches middle age, his ability to produce those vibrations steadily decreases. Then it was found that this ore, Acoustix, revitalized their sounding apparatus, and the rush was on."
"What do you mean?"
Park leaned back. "The rush to find more of the ore," he explained. "But up until now this moon is the only place where it can be found.
"There are two companies here," he continued, "Interstellar Voice and Larynx Incorporated. Chap by the name of Jimmy Baker runs that. However, the point is, between the properties of these two companies stretches a band or belt which has become known as the Baldric.
"There are two principal forms of life in the Baldric; flagpole trees and a species of ornithoid resembling cockatoos. So far no one has crossed the Baldric without trouble."
"What sort of trouble?" Grannie Annie had demanded. And when Antlers Park stuttered evasively, the old lady snorted, "Fiddlesticks, I never saw trouble yet that couldn't be explained. We leave in an hour."